


Fall Apart Twice A Day

by TheShipDen



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Casual Sex, Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gavin Reed-centric, Gun Violence, Happy Ending, Hurt Gavin Reed, M/M, Nines has his first panic attack, Rk900 is called nines come for me, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor RK900/Gavin Reed-centric, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has Feelings, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-04 22:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16798609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShipDen/pseuds/TheShipDen
Summary: “I do not wish to loose you, Gavin, ever.” It’s spoken in silence, even if it’s low and laced with such a damn burden. He wishes he could carry it, do something beside sit there dumbfounded.“I’m not gonna leave you.” It’s simple, shitty he knows, but Nines seems to be soothed by it. Knowing that raw feelings made his voice whispery isn’t to be mistaken for the injuries.





	1. I got dirt in my eyes and blood on my sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> Billie Eilish, anyone? idontwannabeyouanymore anyone???
> 
> no?? k then, highly recommend tho!~

_I’m fine, Nines._

He couldn’t believe he had let it go that easy, with all the fancy programming, with the world’s most advanced processors, that was all it took for him to not notice how utterly wrong those words were. 

_Get a fuckin’ move on, I’ll be right behind you!_

Nines never stopped to register that no echoing footsteps were behind his own. All the signs in the world, all the information laying dormant under his fingertips. The only thing he had cared about in that moment was the priority held prettily on a pedestal above all else. How such a mundane task seemed to take a higher rank above his partner’s health; his life. Nines had been an utter fool. 

The whipping wind howled and bit into his chassis, the RK not minding it one bit, all that mattered was catching the racing criminals responsible for android trafficking. Detective Reed hadn’t even registered in his prime directive- such a careless risk, the entire purpose of partners were to eliminate risk factors that he only instigated- and he felt so nauseous. Felt it scramble his code everywhere, he couldn’t process anything more then the weighing guilt that only screamed for deactivation. 

Halfway into another sector of the city did he realized the detective had not been following after him- never had been from the start. The sickness spread throughout every limb he had, he felt powerless and stupid for charging blindly ahead. He should’ve been better, he should’ve been perfect- perhaps, he was only defective now. Deserved to be after ignoring such obvious signs, for not analyzing the obvious clues right in front of him. 

The alleyway was empty, his chest cavity seemed to bear it’s own blackhole, sucking away at his focus and attention. Where was Detective Reed, and why did he have this…this…feeling of dread; of apprehension, of fear, of a misplaced yearning to be there with him?

His LED spun yellow, the remainder of the footsteps tapping softer and softer, a mocking melody to only further taunt him. Reed had not answered his phone, had not the second or third or any other times afterwards. Nines knew the man had a tendency to not pick up the first time, but the fourth was the limit and he had always received an answer afterwards. This time was different. And the contrast left errors popping up all along his optical units that seeing became impossible. 

_“Humans develop an outer sense of awareness, a congenital epiphany spurred by the rush of hormones and endorphins to come to some logical conclusion- mainly of a distasteful kind- to their current problem,” Connor spoke flatly. “A gut feeling, is what they call it.”_

Deviancy was a rather peculiar thing, nothing ever made sense and often things required more processing power then the effortless tasks of machinery. It was mostly like a virus, adapting to anything that hindered it and only springs forth with unforgiving strands of DNA- all meant for chaos and death. Nines had never thought that it’d occur to him like this, never thought it could bear so much fruit that he was crushed under the force of raw feeling. 

This gut feeling, Nines has now come to now, tells him that his partner is in immediate danger. That he _never_ should’ve left. 

It weighed hot and heavy over his circuit boards, fueling his feet to run faster down the slicked pavements. It screamed that what he had done was a pathetic excuse for someone of his model, of his caliber. The feeling put pressure in places and stung in ways he coldly begin to understand. The level of comprehension was overwhelming, spurring, all too greedy to beseech yet another victim. 

_The gasp flew from Gavin’s lips, hidden amongst the scuffle of feet and collision of knuckles to flesh. Or, it would be, if Nines hadn’t been tuned in to hear it. His eyes flickered over to keep an eye while he blocked a harsh attempt at a stab to his stomach._

_Red ice dealers were unpredictable, desperate, making them more dangerous then your average criminals. Gavin had his gun drawn, only for it to fall out his hands as he was thrown to the floor. He growled out curses, then Nines' focus was put right back on the JB300 model currently clawing at his hands from around it’s wrists._

The RK’s reconstruction programming was going haywire; constantly updating to provide a new probability, a new scenario he would walk into, what he might have to bring himself to do. He tried Gavin’s cell again, the ringing becoming clear from the distance he was to the place. 

He barged into the abandoned warehouse, uncaring for a silent approach. No, he was far too panicked to take calibrated, even, graceful steps. Before he could compute his actions, he was rushing to the last place he had seen detective Reed. 

_The two rounds of gunshots should’ve alerted more then just a measly distraction to him. The grunt, the frantic shifting from foot to foot; only, he was mingling the crashing of a metallic body towards the floor with the onslot of gun fire. Nines had moved to finish subduing his perp before they bounced up and fled. He sent one last glance Gavin’s way._

_He was pressed against the back wall, straining against the might of his attacker but once their eyes met- some dark flicker held within them- Gavin had only nodded at the android._

_“I’m fine, Nines!” Detective Reed barked, throwing a good elbow to his own criminal and kneeing them in the ribs. He was panting- overexertion, but why? This wasn’t past any of his partner’s limits._

_The android’s feet itched to move, his hands balling to fists as he watched the other droid get farther and farther away from him. His HUD blared angrily at him to give chase, to accomplish his mission._

_One glance to Reed, "Get a fuckin’ move on, I’ll be right behind you!”_

Stumbling to the dusty room, Nines’ LED went from the quizzical yellow to blasting murderous red streaks all across the dark room. From where he stood he saw a stream of red trickling towards a steady growing pool. His processors froze, scans on the fritz as they displayed feedback, the information threatened to overload his databases and brain. He felt like he might go offline. Like his knee joints would suddenly give up and he’d collapse onto he dirty ground. 

Gavin Reed laid lazily propped up on a broken box, blue jeans dyed crimson as his hoodie was now balled up and soaking up whatever Nines’ couldn’t see. An unforgiving trail of the same haunting crimson stained Gavin’s lips, coating his chin and seeping out from his nose. 

His feet moved, his steps wide and quick. Only masking the shaking of his hands by pressing them down onto the sea of pooling blood on the circular rim that caused it. 

Gavin stirred, gasping from the influx of stimulation and pain that buzzed right up to his brain. The sharp inhale earned an irritated cough- one as lethal sounding and looking as more blood bubbled up and splashed past cracked lips. Nines frowned, fumbling to bring his maddening, dizzying thoughts to a halt. Crime scenes and blood had never bothered him before, but there was just so much of it.

“Did ya get those sorry fuckers?” Gavin croaks, breathless as he asks. He’s never heard the man so…soft before, so quiet..so _lifeless._

_His hand rests on the detective’s back, a luxury he is now allowed to have. Gavin dislikes touch- or really dislikes the aspect of the person who touches him. He’s come to understand that it was very important who the person was providing the touch. Gavin was quick to swing at anyone besides Nines, Tina, and occasionally a witness._

_“You aren’t so slow,” Nines taunts. A very small smile to his features, one that’s starting to appear more and more natural rather then stocky._

_“Fight me you long-necked bitch.” Was the huffed quip._

_Gavin glanced up, a sharp but easy glimmer shinning past something mischievous. Nines sensed his database saving the moment and filing it away inside a folder labeled as no one else’s but his human._

_His partner’s hair was an unruly mess, but the look seemed too good to fix- a rarity for the android, considering he thrived on being presented as perfect and nothing else. But the gulps of greedy air slowed, almost in time with the tender circles he was drawing on the human’s back._

“-y? Ya in there, metalhead?”

The RK blinked, looking up from his hand that only seemed to absorb an ever flowing red. He hadn’t realized he had gone quiet, his stress levels were rising, systems warning him to calm down before reaching it’s peak capacity. He’s never known the urge to cry but now feels like the time. Now feels like he should wretch his thirium regulator out for his mistakes. 

“Hey, hey, stop freakin’ out on me, yeah? Just a scratch ’s all.” 

**_[Pre-construction; Smack Detective Reed]._ **

****

**_. . . . . ._ **

****

**_[Non-suitable via complications.]_ **

“That’s a lot of blood for a scratch,” Nines replies coldly. He doesn’t mean to be brash but he realizes the emotion that’s strangling him is fear. He is scared. _Terrified._ Because for once, all he can do is sit and wait, forcing pressure down to keep whatever blood remained inside a still oozing body. 

**Rate of Survival; 34%**

A hand- warm and grounding came up to grab at his face, his sensors immediately booting up to provide heat to the cold skin that shouldn’t have ever been. Nines sucks in an unnecessary breath, exhales, and feels a bit steadier. 

“Just a nick in the paint job, hear me?” It’s firm, commanding even in such a frail and weak voice. The android’s auditory and optical unit streams a higher resolution, trying to see every detail it could, scanning for anything, constantly computing some variable of possibilities.

Gavin’s pale, the scar on his nose seems to hold the only color, yet it merely matches the hue Nines comes to resent. The color red. The same color Gavin is distracted by which rests against his temple, he feels the swipe of a thumb and isn’t surprised to find some form of filtered vapor shedding from his optical program. 

Nines is angry at Gavin’s ability to shrug this off, more upset at himself for letting things get to this level. The paramedics needed to hurry up, he couldn’t stand sitting here and being nothing but useless. Muscles bunched and tense, the detective groans as he sits up straight to stare his partner dead in the eyes. The movements snap Nines to the present and he’s quick to push Gavin down, applying steady pressure on the bullet wounds that refused to stop bleeding. 

“You’re injured, please-“

“Yeah, no shit.” Gavin cuts him off, stubborn as he is, and bares a brave facade all the while Nines knows he’s gritting his teeth at the pain. 

“Detective I-, …” He can’t bring himself to speak. It’s hard. It’s choking him. Swelling up inside his chest and tearing everything apart by the very bolt. Warmth runs fresh down his cheeks, he knows it’s tears and he tries not to make a mess. Not to let anything drip onto the human bleeding out from under his fingers. “I’m sorry."

“None of that now.” Gavin clicks his tongue, his hands dropping from holding his hoodie down- leaving that up to Nines- and instead grabbing the android’s free hand. He uncurls it, lays it down right above his heart, inches away from the one bullet still buried in his shoulder. 

Nines hears a steady drumming- a heart. Gavin Reed’s heart still beats, but for how much longer scares him. 

“Still kickin’,” The detective comments. 

_Nines has to bite his lip from letting out a low groan, hips roll and slot over his own, frantic in their search for bliss. His fingers dig on those muscular thighs- the very ones covered in teeth marks and littered with bruises. He thinks the image is beautiful, has the urge to make more. Maybe in higher, more noticeable places._

_“Fuck, Nines-“ Gavin crumbles. His expression is hidden by the space near his neck, the human flush against him as his attempts at pushing back get sloppier but more rushed. Contradictions- ones that made him drunk off of how intoxicating they were. Each unique and illogical. But so Gavin._

_He only hums, expertly tilting his thrusts and moving things faster. The cry that sounds so close to his ears has him chasing twins of it; savoring every mewl or whine falling past opened lips._

_Gavin’s skin is warm, smooth and scarred, a perfect masterpiece of art if you asked him. Nines is smothered by the need to be closer to the human, even if it wasn’t possible, the craving to express his devotion in anyway he could. Skin cleared to show his white chassis, melding with the hot flesh of organic tissue._

_He feels a dull rhythm, the beating of a human heart, steady and stronger. Nines feels every pump like a gentle hand weighing over his regulator; subconsciously, his melds into sync with it._

_He only gets bolder by the second, flipping them over, diving down to pepper more nibbles on prominent collarbones he simply can’t get enough of._

_“I’m sorry.”_ Nines whispers. His hand clenches, tangles in his partner’s shirt and trembles. He’s stoic and composed- but all he wants to do is scream and yell. He wants to abuse his strength on that blasted red ice dealer. Their life wasn’t worth Gavin’s. 

“Don’t be.” 

He wants to do more, so much more. There’s options he wants to try but revels in the fear of wrong that could make this worse. Gavin’s breathing turns nasty- clogged, choked sounding. He’s pushing the detective forward and watching blood drip freely past his lips. 

**Rate of Survival; 29.4%**

He can’t pale but Gavin is- he curses. The sirens sound as rushed as Nines’ thoughts are, not too far off. He wants to yell at them for taking so long- his programs cannot tell him about the local traffic, refused to use any processing power other then on Gavin. It seems he finally works up the courage to scan the man as footsteps thunder on the cement. 

_**Beginning Scan. . . . .** _

__

_**. . . . . . . . . . .** _

__

_**Scan Complete.** _

“Watch-.. Watch ‘m shitheads fo- _hng_ \- for me, kay?” Gavin breaks his concentration. And maybe he’s glad for it. Maybe it sets the sizzling guilt ablaze inside his chest and he wishes he’d never been woken up inside that stupid fucking tower. Connor should’ve never let him become deviant. He should’ve rotted in that storage unit. 

******_CRITICAL INJURIES;_  
** **MAJOR BLOOD LOSS  
** **-TRAUMATIC PNEUMOTHORAX  
** **(Details; punctured pleural space filling with blood)  
** **-SOFT TISSUE DAMAGE TO LEFT SHOULDER  
** **-VENOUS BLEED IN LEG**

Nines pulls Gavin’s head in a jerky motion once he sees those eyes slip shut, the hiss from the human’s lips makes him feel relief like nothing’s ever come close to and there’s a grimaced glare barely holding any edge at all to it. 

**_OBJECTIVE: KEEP GAVIN REED ALIVE.  
-SUB OBJECTIVE; KEEP GAVIN REED AWAKE. _ ** ____

__

__“Keep looking at me,” The RK demands none too gently. He wishes Gavin were a machine as he himself had once been before, then Gavin could take the order. Obey it and not possibly end up dead and cold on the dirty floor. "Eyes on me."_ _

__

__**This Isn’t Fair.** _ _

__

__It appears on his HUD, displaying all over his processing feed and pooling in the crimson puddles. He dismisses it, scared to be distracted-_ _

__

__**This Isn’t Fair.** _ _

__

___Go away._ _ _

__

__**This Isn’t Fair. This Isn’t Fair. This Isn’t Fair.** _ _

__

___Stop._ _ _

__

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____****_This Isn’t Fair._  
This Isn❄̸̨̢̧̢̢̡̡̢̗͈̯̦̻̺̥͍̣͓̤̯̳̹̝̙̼̣͈͚̜̫͕͚̟͈̗̥͇̺̼̯̗̞̰̺̝̝̭͉͕̼̬̭͈̩̹̠͙̬̜̳̲̦̠̖̯̳̰͍̦̤̜͈̩̰̪̺̰̤͉̳̜̘̹͕̭͔̞̣̪̟̹͎͕͔̯̹̹̩̪̙̺̦͖̮̼͙͖̜͚͇̞͖̖̼͈̙̝̱͓̜̟͈̯̪̝͈̫͖͎͕̲̻̣̯͈̪͔̼̰̣͍̥͉͗̒̓̋̋̔̀̃̀̇̉͂̑̀͜͜͜͠ͅ︎̵̧̡̢̨̛̛͇͙̹̱̤̜̬̟̭͎̝͎̟̠̩̥͍̟͇͉̰͕̭̖͈͔͇̼̱̺͖͙̘̞͚̬̮͕̞̞͎̻̜̯͈̲̫̳̣͔͈̹̗̖̭̮͖͚͈̮̩͇̞͔̜͓͙̹͓̋͂̆̀̂́͊̾̆̎̾͌̆̒̌̉̄̏̑̔̈͋̑͂͂̊̓̀̆̾́̉̌̐̌̑̾̓̇͗̾̂̀̈́̉̏̔͂̒̉̀̅̈̄̐̍́̓͊͌̅̔͌̒̔̅̃̓̇̆̄̆̎̃̃͂͒̅͋͌͗̿̇̿̓̍̎͛̇̋̄̅͒͗̚̚͘̚̚̚̚̚͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ♒̵̢̢̡̛̛̛̛͍̬̙̟͓͓̭̳̙̤̱̮̻̩̠̭͓̬̫̰̺͉̮̫͉͉̝̬͉̦̻̙͚̭͎̞̮͍͕̼̯̖̫͔̮̪̼̠̜̻̖̄̍̐̾́̋̽̅̊̅͊̄̇͒̀̓̎̑̍̈́́͊̔͂́͐̇͂̄̐̍̿̽̿̀͋͂̓̇͂̾̌̏͛̈́͒̊̄̊̿̓̀̆̄͂̿̂̌̔̌̅̐̀̅́̈͛̏̃͋̒̇̌͋͛̌̃̄̔̿̊̅̓̽̉̂̚̕̕̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͠͝͠ͅ︎̵̡̡̨̨̛͎̙͈̺̲̗̼̯̖͚̰͚͕̠̜̖̣̪͙͙̻̜̞̙̼̤̬̹̫͎͕̔̐̀͗̄̉̒̊̈́̾̄̒̉̐͐̄̂̍͊̄̒͐̋̋̀͋̔̾͐̌͌͂̍̏̾̑͌̄̅̊̽́̾́̓̒̉͋̒̔́̇́̉̎͌͐̒̀̎̓͌̇͗̊́͌͒̊͌̓̿̃͂̾̉̃̊̂͆̉͋̑̿͛͊͊̋̉͘̚̚͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͝♓̶̧̡̢̢̧̧̧̡̨̨̧̢̛͚̹̪̺͕̖̤̤̦̹̜̠̫͓̭͈͉͇͖̺͔̩̙̜̠̪͖̤͖͓̟̥̪̰͉̣͕̳̱͈̞͈̘̘̻̺͇͓̲̬̠͉̯̯̰̳̙̼͉̻̤̦̙̞̮̲̬̞̦̳̺̻̬͙̗͎̰̰̜͉̠͚̟̝̯̮̮̬̼̙̩̩̬͙̦̪͓͍̮̟̲̙͎̙̦͕̯̜̻͙̲̜͍̤͈̙̠̳̖̻̳̼̠̺͕͉͉̼̰̩̜͚͙̣̯̠̥̤̭̩͉̺̟̤̟̺͈̭̠̜̣͌̈̈̈́̎̐̑͌̐̈́̑̈́̾̏̾͗̽̐͌͑̊̌́̃̓̓̽̄̍̎̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅ︎̴̧̢̨̧̡̧̨̧̢̢̢̧̨̛̲̳̖͈̘͕̹̖̲̺̖͉̖͎̹̝͚̹͇̘̺̺͖̖̪͉̱̬̤͓͓̺̫͎̖̰͇̫̭͎̘̗̪̞͍̱̜̠͕͕̭̱̖͚̥͖̳̟̮̩̮̺̗̥̥̞̲̫͓̮̟͓̦̗̞̙͚̹̰̠̝͕͉͖͍̪̱̦̻̬͖̹̲͙̣̳̪̘̟̠̱̱̱̤̠̝̲̺͇̩͚̣̭̜̱̟̦̯̘̗̜̥̮͔͕͔͔̣̼͉̤̤͖̺̹̯̠̣̝̙̜̞̱̯̝͓̋̉̿̍̉̒̽̈́̿͑̑̒̈́̒̽̓͛̈̉̽͆͒͒̈́̊͋͌͒̂͊̽͛̏̒̅̈́̐̂̅͆̾̏͋͆̈́͂̔̏̒͛́̎̐͛̾͒̆͐̉̆̏̉͆̎̄͂̆̓͗͛̎̇̈̈͋̆̄͑̉͊̽͐͆̃͌͌̊͘͘̚͘͘͘̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅ⬧̸̡̧̨̢̨̢̡̢̧̨̧̨̛̛̛͓͚̥̞̪͉͚̩̦̳̼͕̩̜̠͎̲̳̣̗͇̩̜̯͍̲̞̤̤͕͓͕̦̰͖̼̼͙̝̦̥̯̭̮̞͇̦͓̣̟̺̠͕̱̙̖̬͍̱̟̝͖̟̜̣̙͍͖̣̲͎̮̮͕̦͖̯̺̼̱͉͍̱̺͙͕͈̩͕͈̺̦̮͓͕̤͉̠̞̬̰̥̙̤̭̰̹͍̙͉̟͙̼͎̯̱̦͚̬̰͓͔̺̗̦̯̖̥̺̬̀̄̄̃̉̔̊͂̑͑͛͗̀̂͛̎̌̀̽̈́̿̏͛̾͋̊̾̃͐͒̉̌͆̍̋͂̇͆̓̊̏̈́͋̓͗͊͐̃͋̆̐̑̉̈͋̄͊̽̍̐̊͒͒̉̌͗͋̋̏̎̊̐̈̃͋̄́͋̀͗̓͒̉̄̇͑̒̾̓͛́̂̍͑̌͛̂̒̇̎̈̀͑͘̕̚͘̕͘͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅ︎̷̛̛̥̦̙̮͍̪̹̜͔͊̿̾͊̊̎͌͋̆͆͗̈́̿͐̂̂̀̾̓͒̽́̀͐̒̈́͑́͌̌̏́͊̒̐͐̂̏̈́́̇̌̿̾̌̐̀͂̏̉͑̉̅̀͋̅̉͆̓͑̋̓͛̓̉̀͋͒̍̀̾̏̓͌̋̇̅̄͌͆̀͊̌̄̿̆̔̉̀̓̓̔̒́͑̒̒̓̂̾̚̚͘̚̚̚̕͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ ̶̡̡̢̡̖̯̺͇̟̰̺̝̼͙̦͖̟̤̠̫̯̜̗̣̖̹͉̹̰̽̓̍̓̈́͌͛̏̎̽̃̇͜ͅ♓̸̹͈͈̺̀̅̊̈͌͊̐̿̅̍̍̆͂͝︎̶̨̡̢̡̨̛̛̛̛̛͉̮͙͇̮̟͎̳̙̖͚͖̻͙̦̣̖̼͈͉͉̱͎͎̟̲̲̫͉̭̣̜̮̰̠̪̼̬͎̰̻͙̯̩̫̫̻̩̮̜̟̭͖̠̜͉̺͉̝̭̥̬̰̪͕̻̞̥̪͖͈̠͕̥̣̹̟͕͇̪̞̘̮̠̞̥̹̣͓̜͉̞̍́̄͆̓̽̽͑̐̈́̈́̎̆̀͊͆̈́̏̊́̅͊̈́̽͋͊̎̓͛̿̇̃͒́̑͒̎̈͒̐́̅̑͌͒̔̒̔̔̄́͂͆̋̓̅̓̅͊͋͋͛̿̍͐͂͂͛̀̌̍͊̋̉͑̃̾̇͆̈́̋̈̾̍͊̽͊̊͒̓͋͆̑̍͗̅̾̎̈̌̏͌̆̂̎̄̈̿̆͋̂́̇͌́̇̃͒̔̐̅̽̎͐̿͗̅͘̚̚̚̚̕̚͘͘̕̕̚͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅ⬧̸̢̡̡̢̧̨̡̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͙̦̥̳͎͎͇͍̼̟̮̝͙̻̻͈̼͍̼̦̻̭̘͖͖͈̙͙͉̫̹̖̻͚̦͎̯̺̳̗͓͍̦͎̟͇̠̘̭̱̰͎̞̲͖̦̘̺̹̙͉̱̰̘͍̤̭̙̦̮͚̗̯̦̖̫̹̬̘̦̣͉͖̣͕͈̠͎̺͔͓̩͇͚͖̹̞̥̻̩͚̮̰͈̝̥̗̟̜̖͍͖͇͍̦̬̬̤̙̇̈́̊̈́͐̿̊͑͑̈́̿̐͊̀͑͗̏̈́̓͌͌͌͐̑͌̀͑͑̂̂͊̈́͂͑̈́͌͐̈́̇̓̈́̌̇̓̓̋̽̎̆͑͋̾̎̉́̑̆̉̉̾͂́̒͒̋̓̄̑̄͒̏́̔͂̐̅̒̇͗̍̓̌̾̂̿͐̐͗̄̂̎̔̀̚͘̚̕͜͜͠͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅ︎̷̧̧̧̧̨̧̢̧̢̥̘̫͇͓̫̤̮̘̼̯̙͙̳̹̤̪̺̮̠̗̣̬̰̬̖̭̮̪͈͖̫̱͇͎͉̜͕͕͇̪̩͚̪͉͓̦͕̺̤̳̥͇̬̺̳͕̻͇̯̱̱̣̭͓͔̼̼̙̦̺͓̖̤͔̘͚͈̩̟̻̗̹̣̬̺̮̮̳̝͔͈͍͓͔͇̩̱̭̥̫̲̥̙̩̌͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ■̴̧̧̢̡̡̛̛͈̜̺̹̩̙̥̻̬̪̗̪̜̬͕̟̳͙̫̫͖͚̠͉̘̲̰̫̳̝̦͕̮̱͓̣͍̩͍̝̬̬̬͔̙͙̮͉̥̑̈́̆̍͂̏̔̽̔̐̐̊̃͊͂̈̏̄̊͑̐̆̈́͋͊̆̌͐̓̂̃̎̉̃̈́̊̔̈̍̈́̑̍͗͂͆̂̊̓́̾̈́̋̊̏̽̇̋̔́̑͆̐̏̂̄̌̇͂́̾̅̔̋̂͒̉̎̒̂̈͒̃̒͆͐͑̇̈̃̔͂͋̽̀̄̅̊̀͌͊̚͘̚͘͘̚̕͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅ︎̸̢̨̧̡̡̡̢̢̡̨̢̧̡̛̛̛̛̛̱̦̩̤̹̹͚̯͉̜͚̟̦̠̦͇̬͙͙̲͕͉͇̜̺̟̻̺̺͍̮͇͕̯̜̱̖͍̦͙̰͍̟̳̘̳̮̗͓̠̘͉̥̳̩̟̭̱̞̥̦̣̲̲̹͖̰͉̭̪̝̩̭̖̗͖̞̯̠͎̤̹͖̝̪͎͖̣̤̯̙͔̪͇̱̠̭̗̻͈͉͍͎̼̭̳̤̮͉͈̞͎͎̗̬̮̐̐̋̊̉̿͑̂͊͂̅̊͋̿͂͗̌͆̃̎́̌̔̈͆̌͂͐̆͑̈̀̅̔̀̒̈́̊̊̓̈́̏̔̽̅̑̂́̂͊͂͌̽̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͠͠ͅͅ❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ⧫̴̧̧̢̨̢̨̡̧̧̧̢̛̛͚͎̥͇̗̘̮̜̝͉͇̙͉̗̥̥̳͓̘̰͔̬̭̩̮̤̙̪͍͉̯̯̥̺̫̼͚̙̰̮̟̥̪̠̟̩̦̣͔̝̠̱͚̣̬͇͙̥̦̘̼̟̝̠͓̪̻͇̜̖̮͈̦̞̬͚̟̲̩͙͚͙̗͔͓̣̬͙̬̰̙̘̳̹̲̤͈̠̞͎̘̠̥̼͉̲̪̰͋͋̈́̀̈́̃̐̈́͗̽̈́̒̃͛͂̀̆̈́̎͑̀̽͒̈́͂̓̀̑͑͒̿͋̋͂̃̔̓̉̓̋̏̊̀̈́́͊̽̊̽̈̊͌͗͛̆̋̑͊̑̈̈̊̎̔̄͗̿̍̃͛͐̓̍̒̔͐͗́̑̂̆̃́̿̏͑̿̐̋̅̏̅̏̄̽̓̋̽̓̌̑̀̀̆̊̌̑͆̃̌̉̎͑̑͆͗̉̀̄͘͘̕͘̚͘͘̚͘͘͘͘̕͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅ︎̴̢̡̧̧̡̧̡̧̡̡̢̛̛̛̬͉̼͙͕̜̯̤͚̱̹͓̲͉̬̦̥͚̟̹͉̟̜̪͉̦̤̤̪̩͇̙̟̖̱͔̮͚̺̦̻̙̭̞͉͔̼͔̙̹͖̗̻͍̠̖̙̬̗̮̼̝͈̹̜̯̪̪͉̦̫̤̯̗̪̪̟̬̯̘͔̥̭͇̙̪̘̬̜̫̺͓̰̭̮͓̞̠͉̯͈͕͚̲̗̖̭͍̝͇̺͚̮̥͔̘͍̫̳̜͚͚͎̬̗̝̱̝̘̳̟͓͎̲̪͍̗̠̳̮̹̝́̊͊́͌́͆̈͒̃̋̿̒̄̓̀̾̈́̉̂̔͌̄͆̏́̂̐̋̆̑́̈́̐̏̍̏̈́͑̈̀͒́̍͗́́̓̿̌͗͂̐̋̇͑͐́͒̅̍̐̏͒̍̾̍̄̎̿̓̾̋̇̈́̿̅͆͑̉̑͑̔͊͐̾̏̀̽̓̏͆̂̓̒͐̑͑̔͌̐͋̒̂̚̚̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅ  
’t Fair.ẗ̴̨̨̢̢̧̨̨̨̨̢̨̨̛̛͈͍̱͙̟͉̼̲̩̻̺͔͙͕̗̰̺̲̗͕͈̫̫̘̟̯̺͍͙͚̺̬̦̖̺̭̦̪̬͎͎̗͈̜̹͍̠̤̲̤͓͙̜̮̞͖̬͕͍͓̥̣͖̱̟̥̙̞̲̯͎̠̻̠̼͍̗͚̥̘̮̦̯̘̮̝̘̘̝̻͍̣̲̳͍͕͇̣̙̯̗͎͇̘͎̩͇̝̝̠̟̮̖̖̬̞̰̼̜̹̼̭͚̟͖͚͈̦̞̯̯̳̥̤̘̟̹͕̝͉͇̗̳̟̖̲̬̫̥͇̻̯̱͓̫͔͙̗̝͇͚̮͖̠̗̖̯̦͈̫̥̹̱̺͉̤̠̹͍̱͖̝̤͔̳̭͙͔̭̟͕̥̗̠̦̜̫̞̯͖̙͖̠̯̞̭̱̼̩̪̰̘̣̜̰̝̠̭̥̝̻̤̟̯̗̲́̋̿̋̎͐̓͆͐̑̈́͛̔̓͌̃̊͋̾̑̄̊͊̾́̅͋̑͛̀̀̃̀̎̈́́̏̓̀̌̆̓̍̎̏̈̂̄́̎̾́̏̽̿̒̇̾̀͌̉̅̽̄̿̇̂̓̄̎͂̃̓̄̆̽̇̈͑̇̽͂͌̎̊͂̾͂̍͆̓̕̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅh̷̡̡̡̧̨̨̧̨̢̢̧̢̡̡̡̢̛̛̛̛̛̰̳̘͎̦̥͎͍̮̜̰̟̼̱̳͕͔̠͈̫̹͙̟͓̫͍̤̝̦͎̦͉̼͉̗̻̦͕͚͚̲̟̼̼̙̘̤͉͎̬̤̭͙̪͍̘̙̖̜̩̯͍̥̳̯̣̼̗̝̼̝͙̼̻͖̣̙̯̘͕̮̺̥͚̩̹̱̼̖̯̱̘̪̼̖͙̲̱̞̮͈͖͍̤̯̱͔̗̦͚̮͉͓͔̮̣͈̫̞̭͍̠̖̘̩͚̗̻̬̗̭͚͓̮̘̪̬͚̫̲̣̫̦͓̰͓̝̲̗̤̪̠̜̲̣͚͇̲̮̯̪͎̼̟̩̙͙̟͕̞͕̩͍͇̮̜͈͈̲̱̖̹͉͖͖͇̻̱͈͖̿̿̃͋̐̆̐͐̾̍͊̈́͗͒̓͊̔́̀͊̐́̒͒͆͊̒̎̊̊̆̈̀͋̑̇͂̓͂͊͆́͐͌̎̔̎̇̒̃̓̂̏̇̌͋̊͌͗̄̋̓̉͋̈̎̊͌͛̒̅͛̅͑̋̒͗̇̑̓̉̿̊̃͂́͛̽̄̇̇͛͊͗̅̐͗̉̃̎͗̏̌̇͒̊̾̅̐̽͌͗̈͛͆͗̔̋̂̍̅́̋̊̍̋͒͆͐̀͌̇̅̅͐̑͂̋͌̃̂̑̿̓̉̇̔̀͛͑̒̊̂̽̊̏͑̈̆̏͂̏͗̔̊͑͗́̈̎̏̃͒̍̚̕̚̕̚̚̚̕̚͘̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝ͅͅi̴̢̢̨̡̢̢̡̡̨̡̢̨̛̛̛̛̗̼͚̻̱͕̮̲̞͍̺͕͈̖̪̮͓̺̣̻̟̲͙̯̥̩̘̟͕̣̰͙̰̱͚̹̬͍̦̭̯͇͎̘͎̜͔̺̹̣̼̘̝̘͕̻̳͚͎̜͖̪̼͖̭̫͍̫̝̠̗̥̻̠͉̖͓̩̥̭͍̼͈̮͚͔̱̖̟̥̣͉̪͈͖͉̤̥̪̰̖͉̦̱̥̺̱͚͉̥̣̫̺͔̟͙̖̟̘̪͍̲̜̜͖͛̎͑͐̎̒̇̐́̈́̌͐́͊̊̀͒̋̈̈́̓̂̾̂̈́̀͗̊͋̀̐̂̈́͐͐͐́̃̋̓͊̓͆̽͐̿͐̃̎̉͊͊̎̉̽̂͑͛̽̂͗̅̑̐̿͆̔͂́́̅̾̔̽͒̊̔͆̂̅̌̒̊̌̉̆̓̏͋̂̃̉̌̉̾͗͌́̌̍̃͛̔͌̎̇̅̈̊͗̄̾͑̔̊͐͗́̆͑̑̿͌̔̽̑͌̐͌̏̏͒͛͐̊̐̐̊͂͛̑͌̀̔̏̅̇́͆͊̌̽́̒̋̒̔̆̑͋͌̽̽͋̆͋̍͊̍̒͂̑͌̆̂̂͆͂̎͊̇̀̀̓̚̕̚͘͘̕̚̕̚̕͘̚͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅş̴̢̨̨̡̧̧̢̨̧̧̡̨̡̡̨̨͍̬͕̱̠͎̹̦͚̜̲̥̙̟͕̘̪̹̥̤͓͎͇͇͙̜͈̰͎͕̣̤͉̣̬̰̞̻̣̞̺͈̮̼͇̪͖̩͓̳͈̹̞̟͖̹͇̩̰̫͖̰̼͔̥̬̠̘̬̹̼̫̫̣̣̫͔͔̫͓͖̰̟̺͖̖̭̘̳͓̫̪̭͉̥͉͖̖͈̟̯̭͈̞̗͙̰̫̮͇̭͇̘̦̣͇͔̝̦̣͉͎͉̟̬̰͇̫͖͔̩̞̲̭̙̗͇̘̯͖͓̗͓̫̟̟̜̘͈̝̥͍͙͇͚̘̬̳͍̻̼̖̣͈͕̖̪͙͔̳̟̹̹̪̩̟͈̹̜̣͓̞͇̜̥̙͈̗͖̻̻͉̫̘̟̟̩̦̯̗̲̠̭̜̜̱̦͛͊̓̐̉͑̔̽̈́̉͐͐̆̍́̓̈́̍͆̔̑̽̓͑̓͋̿̓̐̓̑̓̒̆̔̓̈̆͋͛͊͊̈́̌̒̈́̈́̃̐̍̂̅̽̐͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ ̶̨̨̧̢̧̡̧̢̨̢̨̢̢̨̧̧̨̢̧̧̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛͔̦͙̱̲͇̮̮̣̼̣̞͎̯̠̱̝͍̰̥̭̦͎͉̹̲͍̬̗̟͍̖̣͎̣̩͎̟̥̺͈͖͓͓̯̲̪̙̳̜͍̻͉̺̲̭̭͍̥̣̬͕̘̥̺̭̭͕̙͓̗͍̝̮̳͔̪͖̝̗̥̲͉̝͉͖̱̗̺͈̗͔̲̬̞̯̠͕͍̙̯̫̳̠̦̫͈̰̝̬̩̯͔͉͉͕̙̜̙̰͔̹͇̳̞̗͔͔͓̤̗̹̝̻̖̭͖͚͓͍̜͖͓̦͇̜͉̮̯͉̟̣̫̫̦̰͙̜̗̜̼̳͇̻͖͎̭̫͔͚͕̺̱̥̺͎̼͎̟̖̲̭̼̳͈̤̮͓̦̰̹͉͓̩̟͈̱̼͔̟̩͖͙͇͓̩̲͎̬͈̪̭̦̺̠͇̺̱̰̮͕͙͖̥̟̫̝̫̺͎͓̖͎͚̖͚̩̗̭̹̗͙̹͕̱͉̾̅͐̑̓̀̄͛̄̏͗͂̐̆̿̑̽̿̈́͒͒̔͊̓̍͆̉͒̉̆̈́̀̽͗̉̓́̄̅̄̀͊̌̄͆́̈́͗̄́͒̒͐̉̓̎͒̉̾͗̑́͂̐͛̏̌̄̆͒͐̊̿̌̌̑̑͆͆͐͗͗̌̃̋̽̈̈̌̒̿͂͒̽̔̂͛̍̋͌́̎̔̊͆̏͐͆̐͑̎͌͊̎̍̊͗̆̇̂̂͑̒̐̍̇͒́̈̑̑̃͆̉̄̽̌̀͑̏̐́̇͋͑̔̑͛̎͂͛͂̆͛͛͛̅̆́̑̿̔̾̏̔́̊̐͒͘͘̕̕̕͘̚̕̕̕̚͘͘͘̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͠͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅi̶̡̢̧̢̧̢̢̢̨̨̢̧̨̢̛̛̛̛̜͎̻͚͙̺̝͈̫̤̠̳̬̻͔̬̳̖̥̤̲̪̦̩̳̲̩̳̤̝̹͍͍͉̗̳̭͉̫͍̜̻̳̗̩̗̼͕̲̤͙̞̲͚̜̳̯̥͎̳̪͈͙̳̹̱͖̗̭̙̰͚̼͚̰͖̬̜̠̦̝̗͖̯͎̤͚̫͈̦̞̜̝̮̜̩͚̗̙͓̞̹͔͔̭̖͙̒͊̎́͊͐͐́̐͂͆̏͆̉̑̉͗͂̍̉̽̈́̒̀͆̄̓̊̅͒͌̏̄̏̇͒̈́̓̀̏́̔̾̍͌̒̐̍͗̿͗̃̾̏̿̀̐̄͒̿̋̊́͗̈̏̏́̇̎͛͐̆̿̒̇̅͊͌̽̽͛̆́̐͒̊̂̌̏̑̾̓̆͌̍̉̄̓̿̎̉͌̐͆́͗͒̑͌͂͆̂̓̊̓̆̋̅͌͗̆̉̆̀̓́̍͌͋̎́̈͒̉̏͐̋̌̎͑͒͋͗̍̽͒͒͒̍͛̅͒̀̊͂͐̐͒͛̌̓̐̿̈̏̓̾̏͛̑͐̽͐̍͗̏̍̆͘͘̚̚̚̚̚̕̚̚͘͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅş̵̧̨̢̨̨̼͙̰̠͎̹͇̻͎̟̤̳̟̠̰̠̥̰͍̰̻̮̖͈̺̹͖̥͈͚̼͇̬̥̥̗̣̣̪̟̟͓̺̗̟̱̩̪̔͛͐̃́̍̾̽̏̃͆̄̌̈́̈́̀̎͊͘͝ͅͅͅn̸̡̧̧̨̢̨̨̨̢̡̛̛̫̠͉̺͙̞͔̹̻̱̜͖͎̠̲̟͍̲̻̞̗̻̤͔̭͓̭̖̟̠̘̞̤̤̰͉̤̬͉̜͚̹̫͙̩͖̯̥͎̺̖͎̩͓̭̞̲̫̭̱͇͕̣̻̱̗͚̦̝̘̖̪̙̻̖͎͇̦̺̙̖͔̤̯̜̻̮̰͎̈̇̑̏͌̅̀̂̇͑̏͆̑̔̋͛̅͑̄̒͌̍̓́̋͂́̓̇̾̐̄̉͒͐̈́̊̿̈̊̅̇͗̉̆͐͛̍̽͗̔͛̀̒̽̊̍̚̕̚̕̕̚̚̚͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅ'̴̨̢̡̡̡̧̨̢̡̨̧̨̧̨̧̨̢̢̨̡̧̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̯͎͙͎͙̤͓͕̘͙̜̗͉̝͎͇̞͕͔̠͉̺̝̜̖͚͍̟̜̼̠̠͖̞̳̜̪̰̱̙̤̰͙̥̻͖̗̳̙̘͖̼̪͇͕̖̰̮͈͚͙͕̮̬̞̫͖̞͎͔̼̩̝͈̱͚̘͈͇̼̫̝̤̦͇͖̖̫̤̣͙͕̥͎̩̝̰̬̝̭̲̱̠̳̳͔̪̱̟͎̮̟̠͈͙͇̟͔̦̤̺̗̼̤̥̤͓̠͉̫̮̜̝͙̬̲̠̞̺͍̳͉̪̣̫̫̫͖̦̮͎̻̲̬̖̲̦̯͎͔̟̺͈̲͓̪̗͇̲̦̜̟̲́̀̈́̓͂̅͊̐̎̂͐͊͌̓̇̄̉͂̓̌̐͑̔̎̓̌͌̾͌̈́̓̀̔̀̽̈͂͂̈́̒̑̒̎̃͋̅͂̒̊́̍̎̐̌̑̾̌̽͗͑͑̄̇͊̋̓̔͐͒́̽̽͐̽̔͛̾̊͆́̆̅̿̈̔̑̋͐̃̀̅̿͌͊̄̍̑̅̑̈̂̐̿͐̅͊̀̽̿̑̊̄͋͊̒̍͋̔̋̏̃́̆̃͗̏̆̋̊͂̋͗̂̅̒̾̓̎̆̓̄̓͌̎̾͛̿̋̽͗̊̓͒̆͋̐̈̊̎̾̄̊̃͑̀͒̓̋͋̐̃̂̒͒̄̐̀̔̄̇͐̄̋̎̐͂̎̍̾̄̊̎̌̐̏͒̕̚͘͘͘̚̚͘̚̚̚͘̕̕͘͘̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅt̴̢̧̨̧̡̢̡̡̡̡̡̢̧̢̡̨̛͉̠͇̹̪̮̹͎͍̮͕̰͉̼̙̼̬͚͙̗̲͍̲̙͖̰͎̥̟̹͔̩͕͍̰͚͓̮̜̹̙̞̭̻̞̠̲̥̯̫͓̬̱̹̼̘͇͕͔̼̬͍͚͓̲͕̝̱̤̣̙̹̤̼̥̤̥̝̬͈̭̰̪̦̟̠̖̳͓̭̺͈̺̖̹͚͈̞͔̪̙̜̱̪̘̬̲̪͕̬̯͎̲̻̝̻͔̖̤̖̭̻̖̰̩̟̠͚͓̤̝̟̭̯̻̰͔͍̭̜̞̻͔̱̮͕̭͚̭̪̺̙̦̳̟͇̣̤̣̯̺̲̹̣̻͍͚̗̝̗̖͇̤͈̤̮̼͎̳̣̙̰̠͇͓̣̲̜̳̙̪̭̗̦̞͈̘͉̳͑͆̾̇̅̀̇͛̊͌̈́̽͆̈́́̌͆̒͆͆̉́̈̆̑̇̒̊͛̊̿͑̽̿̂̍̃̅̃͐̏̎̊̾̅͐̂̂̀̚͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅ ̷̡̡̧̡̛̛̛̫̰̻̪̪̪̟̯̖͕̙̱̻͕͎̱̼͈͉̠̗̖̭̲̱̝̘͉̥̭̼̟͈̭̺̙̱̜͚̫̼̳͙̹̭̐̉̉͛̍̐̇̍̂͒́̑̐̂͒́̒̈́̑̍̊͗̅̃͆͐͛͋̍̽͊̔̄̒̒̿̄͑͗͐̄̌̆̌́̆̀̑̑̉̉̎͛͆̂͆̉̅͊̽̽̽́̈̎͐̃͒͑̑͛͗͊͋͆̉̋͐̽͋͆̂̽̑̾͗̂̾͌̀̈͗̉̈́̄̂̌̒͑̇͐̊͊͐̕̕̚͘̕̚̕͘͘͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅf̵̡̨̡̢̨̨̧̧̧̧̧̨̡̨̡̧̨̢̨̧̨̛̛̛̛̟̝̮͇̙̳̙͚̪̦͓̭̻̗̯̺͙̺̝͇͔̫̪̰̦̱͇̯̗͔̜̲̠̲̲̰͇̮̘̝͓̪̳̖͓͚̟̙͔̥̪͙͎͖͕̳͉̠̫̦͚̻̠̤͚̖̮̳̱̻̬͉̘̝̜̪̲̹̝̹̣̩̣̮̼͎̼̩̪͕̬̰̥̲̫̠̠̟̮̭͕͍͙̭̣̤̰̘͎̟̦̼͚͈̭̬̟͔̬̹̯̯͈͙̟͓̳̩̼̱̘̘͚͖̱̤̖͖̹͚̠̹̘̹̦͖̝̜̟̭͕͕̜̘͖̦̗͇͉̲̠̟͉̭̱̗̮̭̠̲̬͓̭̲̗̹̩̺̗͎͚͇̞̠̻̥͖̗͇̻͍̰͚̫͚͈̖͕̻̫̘̼̰̬͓̺̺͚͓̞̠̠͓͎̫̪̦̭̠̖̹̻̮̩̺̙͚̫̟̲̙͍̹̙̲̐́̋͂̆̈́̔̃̒̇̆̽̉̉͊̍̽̿̋̑̌̃̉̀͑̿̓͛͋̋͒̑͗͊̿̎͐͐̒͆̑̾͂̄̆̽́͒̈̾̍̏͆̉̐̋̔͒̿̂̔̆̐́́̈́̔͒͗̏̄̄͐̀̽͛̽͂̽̇̃̆̄̀͊̊͐͂̃̏͐̐̅͐̉͂̍̄̍̈̌̀̂̄̒̚̚̚̚͘̕̚͘͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅạ̵̢̧̨̧̢̧̢̨̡̢̢̢̨̢̢̡̡̡̢̳̺̼͎͕̝̣̲̼̟̩̻͇̞͍͓̖͚̻̞̪̥̬̼̪̥̣̮̙̣̣̖̟̰͎͙͇͔̗̹̦͔̩̜̪͍̠̹̳̖͎͕̳̼̠̻̣̱̺̫̱͚̹̩̹͖̹̥̰͓̺̬͇̲̖͙̳̯͕̟͉͚̹͙̳̖̬̥̬̠̙̜̟̞̠̳̦̩̼̗̦̻̪̤̜͔͚̲̗͎̪̭͎̟̜͍̺͚̮͙͍͙̣̳̥̝̪̮̖̖̠̪̹̮̥̼̺̣̺͙̳̼̙͍̹̗̰̙̝̤̖̞̙͚̰̗̫͈̙̤̘̙̜̝̺͉̣͔͆̍͋̈́̍͐́̐̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅͅí̴̡̨̡̨̢̨̧̧̨̧̢̧̧̡̨̨̢̨̨̨̡̡̧̢̢̡̨̢̧̢̞̲̺̭̜̖̣̝͇̺̘̯̙̰̤͔̺͙̤̤̟̲̩̟̻̰͕͚̩̫̞̹̯̙͍̻͍̮̥̪̮̫̹͍̲̩̣͓̭̰̖̫͉̲̭͓͍͓̫̜͚̩̯̝̩͕̬̞͉̙̯͖͔̗̟̞̬̳̦͖̥̳̦̘̫͎̖͈̞̭̥̜̮̬̠̠͙͕̟̜̱̫̮͔̣̠͇͉̬͙̞͇̣̯̥̬̳̲̣̜͉̰̭̻̲̪̟̗̞̭̹͖̟̣̗̜͓̦̗͕̩͔̝͉̖̫̠͇͖̫̹̳̬̪͓͔̬̟̺͔͓͔͎̪͕͈͈͕̹̦̫͇̰̘̘̙͙̭̦̪̞̜̲̦̳͎̥͚̹̘̭̪̺̲̬̣̯̯̯̳̞̠͎͎̘͚͕̞̗̏̔̂̔̅̅̀̔̏̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅr̶̢̧̧̢̢̢̡̨̨̨̨̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̹͖͎̳̹̤̖͚̘̳̮̙̺̙͕͓̭͇̞̘̣̮͈͕̖̻͔̻̠͙̞̳̞̥̪̫̥̩͓͓̘̬̪̭̠̳̱͎͕͓̜̰̮̼͖̗̤̖̳̮̯͓̗͖̗̰̹̩͔͇̮̳̪͉͙̦͚͇͚̦̝̲̪͈̮̲̺̝̣̪̤̟͓͓̟͉̙̗̟̰̹̻͖̮̜̮̠͙̣̥̜͚̞̭̹̬͈̱̰̯̳̱̖͍̮̳̟̟̦̫̺̗̱̤͈͖̞̰̹͎̭̼̮̯͓̜̟̥̞̜̞̺̣͕͙̭͔̪͔͕̩̟͙͕̳̬̞̘͓̥̦͚̦̞̜͇͔̥̠̤̹̫̤̠͇̲̣͎̘̗͈̯̣̮̥͉̤̟̳̖̳̱̪̹͙̟͔̫̤͍͇͓̝̰͎͕̙͖͈͉̥̘̻̰̯̟̊̍̀̿̐̅̎͛̂̓̔̓̈́̇̑̋̓̓͆͛̉̐͐̊̎̎̌̾͗̄̉͌̾͐̍̓̊̿̈́̋͆̄̀̈̓̎̍̿̌̋̃͋̎̿͒͋̑̌̽̄͂͊̌́͛̄̄̾̃̑̐͌̓̇̔̄̿͂͐̊̌̌̇́̑͌̔̀̀͊̇̿̉̑̂̎̈̒͌̽̅̃̄̅͌̋̅̆̇̇̉͆͐̽̿̏̍͂͆̿͆̀̑̉̏̑͆͌̑͒̂̀͑̒͒͛̀̾͑͑̑̔͑̄̆̇͒̍̅͂̿̾̌͆͆̎̏̀̾̽̓̋͗͌͛̊͌͑̈̑͆̽̃̇͌̍̅̒͆͌̊̽̈̉̍̆̍̌̿̌̿̾̂̊̍͐̆͊͊̃͊̑͐̇̋̌̉̄͊́͊͑̊͊͛̒͘̚͘̕͘͘̕͘̚̕̚̚̚͘͘͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅ  
This Isn’t Fair.  
This Isn’t Fair.  
❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ  
This Isn’t Fair. ❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ ❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ ❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ ❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ  
This Isn’t Fair.  
This Isn’t Fair.ẗ̴̨̨̢̢̧̨̨̨̨̢̨̨̛̛͈͍̱͙̟͉̼̲̩̻̺͔͙͕̗̰̺̲̗͕͈̫̫̘̟̯̺͍͙͚̺̬̦̖̺̭̦̪̬͎͎̗͈̜̹͍̠̤̲̤͓͙̜̮̞͖̬͕͍͓̥̣͖̱̟̥̙̞̲̯͎̠̻̠̼͍̗͚̥̘̮̦̯̘̮̝̘̘̝̻͍̣̲̳͍͕͇̣̙̯̗͎͇̘͎̩͇̝̝̠̟̮̖̖̬̞̰̼̜̹̼̭͚̟͖͚͈̦̞̯̯̳̥̤̘̟̹͕̝͉͇̗̳̟̖̲̬̫̥͇̻̯̱͓̫͔͙̗̝͇͚̮͖̠̗̖̯̦͈̫̥̹̱̺͉̤̠̹͍̱͖̝̤͔̳̭͙͔̭̟͕̥̗̠̦̜̫̞̯͖̙͖̠̯̞̭̱̼̩̪̰̘̣̜̰̝̠̭̥̝̻̤̟̯̗̲́̋̿̋̎͐̓͆͐̑̈́͛̔̓͌̃̊͋̾̑̄̊͊̾́̅͋̑͛̀̀̃̀̎̈́́̏̓̀̌̆̓̍̎̏̈̂̄́̎̾́̏̽̿̒̇̾̀͌̉̅̽̄̿̇̂̓̄̎͂̃̓̄̆̽̇̈͑̇̽͂͌̎̊͂̾͂̍͆̓̕̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅh̷̡̡̡̧̨̨̧̨̢̢̧̢̡̡̡̢̛̛̛̛̛̰̳̘͎̦̥͎͍̮̜̰̟̼̱̳͕͔̠͈̫̹͙̟͓̫͍̤̝̦͎̦͉̼͉̗̻̦͕͚͚̲̟̼̼̙̘̤͉͎̬̤̭͙̪͍̘̙̖̜̩̯͍̥̳̯̣̼̗̝̼̝͙̼̻͖̣̙̯̘͕̮̺̥͚̩̹̱̼̖̯̱̘̪̼̖͙̲̱̞̮͈͖͍̤̯̱͔̗̦͚̮͉͓͔̮̣͈̫̞̭͍̠̖̘̩͚̗̻̬̗̭͚͓̮̘̪̬͚̫̲̣̫̦͓̰͓̝̲̗̤̪̠̜̲̣͚͇̲̮̯̪͎̼̟̩̙͙̟͕̞͕̩͍͇̮̜͈͈̲̱̖̹͉͖͖͇̻̱͈͖̿̿̃͋̐̆̐͐̾̍͊̈́͗͒̓͊̔́̀͊̐́̒͒͆͊̒̎̊̊̆̈̀͋̑̇͂̓͂͊͆́͐͌̎̔̎̇̒̃̓̂̏̇̌͋̊͌͗̄̋̓̉͋̈̎̊͌͛̒̅͛̅͑̋̒͗̇̑̓̉̿̊̃͂́͛̽̄̇̇͛͊͗̅̐͗̉̃̎͗̏̌̇͒̊̾̅̐̽͌͗̈͛͆͗̔̋̂̍̅́̋̊̍̋͒͆͐̀͌̇̅̅͐̑͂̋͌̃̂̑̿̓̉̇̔̀͛͑̒̊̂̽̊̏͑̈̆̏͂̏͗̔̊͑͗́̈̎̏̃͒̍̚̕̚̕̚̚̚̕̚͘̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝ͅͅi̴̢̢̨̡̢̢̡̡̨̡̢̨̛̛̛̛̗̼͚̻̱͕̮̲̞͍̺͕͈̖̪̮͓̺̣̻̟̲͙̯̥̩̘̟͕̣̰͙̰̱͚̹̬͍̦̭̯͇͎̘͎̜͔̺̹̣̼̘̝̘͕̻̳͚͎̜͖̪̼͖̭̫͍̫̝̠̗̥̻̠͉̖͓̩̥̭͍̼͈̮͚͔̱̖̟̥̣͉̪͈͖͉̤̥̪̰̖͉̦̱̥̺̱͚͉̥̣̫̺͔̟͙̖̟̘̪͍̲̜̜͖͛̎͑͐̎̒̇̐́̈́̌͐́͊̊̀͒̋̈̈́̓̂̾̂̈́̀͗̊͋̀̐̂̈́͐͐͐́̃̋̓͊̓͆̽͐̿͐̃̎̉͊͊̎̉̽̂͑͛̽̂͗̅̑̐̿͆̔͂́́̅̾̔̽͒̊̔͆̂̅̌̒̊̌̉̆̓̏͋̂̃̉̌̉̾͗͌́̌̍̃͛̔͌̎̇̅̈̊͗̄̾͑̔̊͐͗́̆͑̑̿͌̔̽̑͌̐͌̏̏͒͛͐̊̐̐̊͂͛̑͌̀̔̏̅̇́͆͊̌̽́̒̋̒̔̆̑͋͌̽̽͋̆͋̍͊̍̒͂̑͌̆̂̂͆͂̎͊̇̀̀̓̚̕̚͘͘̕̚̕̚̕͘̚͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅş̴̢̨̨̡̧̧̢̨̧̧̡̨̡̡̨̨͍̬͕̱̠͎̹̦͚̜̲̥̙̟͕̘̪̹̥̤͓͎͇͇͙̜͈̰͎͕̣̤͉̣̬̰̞̻̣̞̺͈̮̼͇̪͖̩͓̳͈̹̞̟͖̹͇̩̰̫͖̰̼͔̥̬̠̘̬̹̼̫̫̣̣̫͔͔̫͓͖̰̟̺͖̖̭̘̳͓̫̪̭͉̥͉͖̖͈̟̯̭͈̞̗͙̰̫̮͇̭͇̘̦̣͇͔̝̦̣͉͎͉̟̬̰͇̫͖͔̩̞̲̭̙̗͇̘̯͖͓̗͓̫̟̟̜̘͈̝̥͍͙͇͚̘̬̳͍̻̼̖̣͈͕̖̪͙͔̳̟̹̹̪̩̟͈̹̜̣͓̞͇̜̥̙͈̗͖̻̻͉̫̘̟̟̩̦̯̗̲̠̭̜̜̱̦͛͊̓̐̉͑̔̽̈́̉͐͐̆̍́̓̈́̍͆̔̑̽̓͑̓͋̿̓̐̓̑̓̒̆̔̓̈̆͋͛͊͊̈́̌̒̈́̈́̃̐̍̂̅̽̐͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ ̶̨̨̧̢̧̡̧̢̨̢̨̢̢̨̧̧̨̢̧̧̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛͔̦͙̱̲͇̮̮̣̼̣̞͎̯̠̱̝͍̰̥̭̦͎͉̹̲͍̬̗̟͍̖̣͎̣̩͎̟̥̺͈͖͓͓̯̲̪̙̳̜͍̻͉̺̲̭̭͍̥̣̬͕̘̥̺̭̭͕̙͓̗͍̝̮̳͔̪͖̝̗̥̲͉̝͉͖̱̗̺͈̗͔̲̬̞̯̠͕͍̙̯̫̳̠̦̫͈̰̝̬̩̯͔͉͉͕̙̜̙̰͔̹͇̳̞̗͔͔͓̤̗̹̝̻̖̭͖͚͓͍̜͖͓̦͇̜͉̮̯͉̟̣̫̫̦̰͙̜̗̜̼̳͇̻͖͎̭̫͔͚͕̺̱̥̺͎̼͎̟̖̲̭̼̳͈̤̮͓̦̰̹͉͓̩̟͈̱̼͔̟̩͖͙͇͓̩̲͎̬͈̪̭̦̺̠͇̺̱̰̮͕͙͖̥̟̫̝̫̺͎͓̖͎͚̖͚̩̗̭̹̗͙̹͕̱͉̾̅͐̑̓̀̄͛̄̏͗͂̐̆̿̑̽̿̈́͒͒̔͊̓̍͆̉͒̉̆̈́̀̽͗̉̓́̄̅̄̀͊̌̄͆́̈́͗̄́͒̒͐̉̓̎͒̉̾͗̑́͂̐͛̏̌̄̆͒͐̊̿̌̌̑̑͆͆͐͗͗̌̃̋̽̈̈̌̒̿͂͒̽̔̂͛̍̋͌́̎̔̊͆̏͐͆̐͑̎͌͊̎̍̊͗̆̇̂̂͑̒̐̍̇͒́̈̑̑̃͆̉̄̽̌̀͑̏̐́̇͋͑̔̑͛̎͂͛͂̆͛͛͛̅̆́̑̿̔̾̏̔́̊̐͒͘͘̕̕̕͘̚̕̕̕̚͘͘͘̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͠͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅi̶̡̢̧̢̧̢̢̢̨̨̢̧̨̢̛̛̛̛̜͎̻͚͙̺̝͈̫̤̠̳̬̻͔̬̳̖̥̤̲̪̦̩̳̲̩̳̤̝̹͍͍͉̗̳̭͉̫͍̜̻̳̗̩̗̼͕̲̤͙̞̲͚̜̳̯̥͎̳̪͈͙̳̹̱͖̗̭̙̰͚̼͚̰͖̬̜̠̦̝̗͖̯͎̤͚̫͈̦̞̜̝̮̜̩͚̗̙͓̞̹͔͔̭̖͙̒͊̎́͊͐͐́̐͂͆̏͆̉̑̉͗͂̍̉̽̈́̒̀͆̄̓̊̅͒͌̏̄̏̇͒̈́̓̀̏́̔̾̍͌̒̐̍͗̿͗̃̾̏̿̀̐̄͒̿̋̊́͗̈̏̏́̇̎͛͐̆̿̒̇̅͊͌̽̽͛̆́̐͒̊̂̌̏̑̾̓̆͌̍̉̄̓̿̎̉͌̐͆́͗͒̑͌͂͆̂̓̊̓̆̋̅͌͗̆̉̆̀̓́̍͌͋̎́̈͒̉̏͐̋̌̎͑͒͋͗̍̽͒͒͒̍͛̅͒̀̊͂͐̐͒͛̌̓̐̿̈̏̓̾̏͛̑͐̽͐̍͗̏̍̆͘͘̚̚̚̚̚̕̚̚͘͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅş̵̧̨̢̨̨̼͙̰̠͎̹͇̻͎̟̤̳̟̠̰̠̥̰͍̰̻̮̖͈̺̹͖̥͈͚̼͇̬̥̥̗̣̣̪̟̟͓̺̗̟̱̩̪̔͛͐̃́̍̾̽̏̃͆̄̌̈́̈́̀̎͊͘͝ͅͅͅn̸̡̧̧̨̢̨̨̨̢̡̛̛̫̠͉̺͙̞͔̹̻̱̜͖͎̠̲̟͍̲̻̞̗̻̤͔̭͓̭̖̟̠̘̞̤̤̰͉̤̬͉̜͚̹̫͙̩͖̯̥͎̺̖͎̩͓̭̞̲̫̭̱͇͕̣̻̱̗͚̦̝̘̖̪̙̻̖͎͇̦̺̙̖͔̤̯̜̻̮̰͎̈̇̑̏͌̅̀̂̇͑̏͆̑̔̋͛̅͑̄̒͌̍̓́̋͂́̓̇̾̐̄̉͒͐̈́̊̿̈̊̅̇͗̉̆͐͛̍̽͗̔͛̀̒̽̊̍̚̕̚̕̕̚̚̚͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅ'̴̨̢̡̡̡̧̨̢̡̨̧̨̧̨̧̨̢̢̨̡̧̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̯͎͙͎͙̤͓͕̘͙̜̗͉̝͎͇̞͕͔̠͉̺̝̜̖͚͍̟̜̼̠̠͖̞̳̜̪̰̱̙̤̰͙̥̻͖̗̳̙̘͖̼̪͇͕̖̰̮͈͚͙͕̮̬̞̫͖̞͎͔̼̩̝͈̱͚̘͈͇̼̫̝̤̦͇͖̖̫̤̣͙͕̥͎̩̝̰̬̝̭̲̱̠̳̳͔̪̱̟͎̮̟̠͈͙͇̟͔̦̤̺̗̼̤̥̤͓̠͉̫̮̜̝͙̬̲̠̞̺͍̳͉̪̣̫̫̫͖̦̮͎̻̲̬̖̲̦̯͎͔̟̺͈̲͓̪̗͇̲̦̜̟̲́̀̈́̓͂̅͊̐̎̂͐͊͌̓̇̄̉͂̓̌̐͑̔̎̓̌͌̾͌̈́̓̀̔̀̽̈͂͂̈́̒̑̒̎̃͋̅͂̒̊́̍̎̐̌̑̾̌̽͗͑͑̄̇͊̋̓̔͐͒́̽̽͐̽̔͛̾̊͆́̆̅̿̈̔̑̋͐̃̀̅̿͌͊̄̍̑̅̑̈̂̐̿͐̅͊̀̽̿̑̊̄͋͊̒̍͋̔̋̏̃́̆̃͗̏̆̋̊͂̋͗̂̅̒̾̓̎̆̓̄̓͌̎̾͛̿̋̽͗̊̓͒̆͋̐̈̊̎̾̄̊̃͑̀͒̓̋͋̐̃̂̒͒̄̐̀̔̄̇͐̄̋̎̐͂̎̍̾̄̊̎̌̐̏͒̕̚͘͘͘̚̚͘̚̚̚͘̕̕͘͘̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅt̴̢̧̨̧̡̢̡̡̡̡̡̢̧̢̡̨̛͉̠͇̹̪̮̹͎͍̮͕̰͉̼̙̼̬͚͙̗̲͍̲̙͖̰͎̥̟̹͔̩͕͍̰͚͓̮̜̹̙̞̭̻̞̠̲̥̯̫͓̬̱̹̼̘͇͕͔̼̬͍͚͓̲͕̝̱̤̣̙̹̤̼̥̤̥̝̬͈̭̰̪̦̟̠̖̳͓̭̺͈̺̖̹͚͈̞͔̪̙̜̱̪̘̬̲̪͕̬̯͎̲̻̝̻͔̖̤̖̭̻̖̰̩̟̠͚͓̤̝̟̭̯̻̰͔͍̭̜̞̻͔̱̮͕̭͚̭̪̺̙̦̳̟͇̣̤̣̯̺̲̹̣̻͍͚̗̝̗̖͇̤͈̤̮̼͎̳̣̙̰̠͇͓̣̲̜̳̙̪̭̗̦̞͈̘͉̳͑͆̾̇̅̀̇͛̊͌̈́̽͆̈́́̌͆̒͆͆̉́̈̆̑̇̒̊͛̊̿͑̽̿̂̍̃̅̃͐̏̎̊̾̅͐̂̂̀̚͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅ ̷̡̡̧̡̛̛̛̫̰̻̪̪̪̟̯̖͕̙̱̻͕͎̱̼͈͉̠̗̖̭̲̱̝̘͉̥̭̼̟͈̭̺̙̱̜͚̫̼̳͙̹̭̐̉̉͛̍̐̇̍̂͒́̑̐̂͒́̒̈́̑̍̊͗̅̃͆͐͛͋̍̽͊̔̄̒̒̿̄͑͗͐̄̌̆̌́̆̀̑̑̉̉̎͛͆̂͆̉̅͊̽̽̽́̈̎͐̃͒͑̑͛͗͊͋͆̉̋͐̽͋͆̂̽̑̾͗̂̾͌̀̈͗̉̈́̄̂̌̒͑̇͐̊͊͐̕̕̚͘̕̚̕͘͘͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅf̵̡̨̡̢̨̨̧̧̧̧̧̨̡̨̡̧̨̢̨̧̨̛̛̛̛̟̝̮͇̙̳̙͚̪̦͓̭̻̗̯̺͙̺̝͇͔̫̪̰̦̱͇̯̗͔̜̲̠̲̲̰͇̮̘̝͓̪̳̖͓͚̟̙͔̥̪͙͎͖͕̳͉̠̫̦͚̻̠̤͚̖̮̳̱̻̬͉̘̝̜̪̲̹̝̹̣̩̣̮̼͎̼̩̪͕̬̰̥̲̫̠̠̟̮̭͕͍͙̭̣̤̰̘͎̟̦̼͚͈̭̬̟͔̬̹̯̯͈͙̟͓̳̩̼̱̘̘͚͖̱̤̖͖̹͚̠̹̘̹̦͖̝̜̟̭͕͕̜̘͖̦̗͇͉̲̠̟͉̭̱̗̮̭̠̲̬͓̭̲̗̹̩̺̗͎͚͇̞̠̻̥͖̗͇̻͍̰͚̫͚͈̖͕̻̫̘̼̰̬͓̺̺͚͓̞̠̠͓͎̫̪̦̭̠̖̹̻̮̩̺̙͚̫̟̲̙͍̹̙̲̐́̋͂̆̈́̔̃̒̇̆̽̉̉͊̍̽̿̋̑̌̃̉̀͑̿̓͛͋̋͒̑͗͊̿̎͐͐̒͆̑̾͂̄̆̽́͒̈̾̍̏͆̉̐̋̔͒̿̂̔̆̐́́̈́̔͒͗̏̄̄͐̀̽͛̽͂̽̇̃̆̄̀͊̊͐͂̃̏͐̐̅͐̉͂̍̄̍̈̌̀̂̄̒̚̚̚̚͘̕̚͘͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅạ̵̢̧̨̧̢̧̢̨̡̢̢̢̨̢̢̡̡̡̢̳̺̼͎͕̝̣̲̼̟̩̻͇̞͍͓̖͚̻̞̪̥̬̼̪̥̣̮̙̣̣̖̟̰͎͙͇͔̗̹̦͔̩̜̪͍̠̹̳̖͎͕̳̼̠̻̣̱̺̫̱͚̹̩̹͖̹̥̰͓̺̬͇̲̖͙̳̯͕̟͉͚̹͙̳̖̬̥̬̠̙̜̟̞̠̳̦̩̼̗̦̻̪̤̜͔͚̲̗͎̪̭͎̟̜͍̺͚̮͙͍͙̣̳̥̝̪̮̖̖̠̪̹̮̥̼̺̣̺͙̳̼̙͍̹̗̰̙̝̤̖̞̙͚̰̗̫͈̙̤̘̙̜̝̺͉̣͔͆̍͋̈́̍͐́̐̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅͅí̴̡̨̡̨̢̨̧̧̨̧̢̧̧̡̨̨̢̨̨̨̡̡̧̢̢̡̨̢̧̢̞̲̺̭̜̖̣̝͇̺̘̯̙̰̤͔̺͙̤̤̟̲̩̟̻̰͕͚̩̫̞̹̯̙͍̻͍̮̥̪̮̫̹͍̲̩̣͓̭̰̖̫͉̲̭͓͍͓̫̜͚̩̯̝̩͕̬̞͉̙̯͖͔̗̟̞̬̳̦͖̥̳̦̘̫͎̖͈̞̭̥̜̮̬̠̠͙͕̟̜̱̫̮͔̣̠͇͉̬͙̞͇̣̯̥̬̳̲̣̜͉̰̭̻̲̪̟̗̞̭̹͖̟̣̗̜͓̦̗͕̩͔̝͉̖̫̠͇͖̫̹̳̬̪͓͔̬̟̺͔͓͔͎̪͕͈͈͕̹̦̫͇̰̘̘̙͙̭̦̪̞̜̲̦̳͎̥͚̹̘̭̪̺̲̬̣̯̯̯̳̞̠͎͎̘͚͕̞̗̏̔̂̔̅̅̀̔̏̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅr̶̢̧̧̢̢̢̡̨̨̨̨̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̹͖͎̳̹̤̖͚̘̳̮̙̺̙͕͓̭͇̞̘̣̮͈͕̖̻͔̻̠͙̞̳̞̥̪̫̥̩͓͓̘̬̪̭̠̳̱͎͕͓̜̰̮̼͖̗̤̖̳̮̯͓̗͖̗̰̹̩͔͇̮̳̪͉͙̦͚͇͚̦̝̲̪͈̮̲̺̝̣̪̤̟͓͓̟͉̙̗̟̰̹̻͖̮̜̮̠͙̣̥̜͚̞̭̹̬͈̱̰̯̳̱̖͍̮̳̟̟̦̫̺̗̱̤͈͖̞̰̹͎̭̼̮̯͓̜̟̥̞̜̞̺̣͕͙̭͔̪͔͕̩̟͙͕̳̬̞̘͓̥̦͚̦̞̜͇͔̥̠̤̹̫̤̠͇̲̣͎̘̗͈̯̣̮̥͉̤̟̳̖̳̱̪̹͙̟͔̫̤͍͇͓̝̰͎͕̙͖͈͉̥̘̻̰̯̟̊̍̀̿̐̅̎͛̂̓̔̓̈́̇̑̋̓̓͆͛̉̐͐̊̎̎̌̾͗̄̉͌̾͐̍̓̊̿̈́̋͆̄̀̈̓̎̍̿̌̋̃͋̎̿͒͋̑̌̽̄͂͊̌́͛̄̄̾̃̑̐͌̓̇̔̄̿͂͐̊̌̌̇́̑͌̔̀̀͊̇̿̉̑̂̎̈̒͌̽̅̃̄̅͌̋̅̆̇̇̉͆͐̽̿̏̍͂͆̿͆̀̑̉̏̑͆͌̑͒̂̀͑̒͒͛̀̾͑͑̑̔͑̄̆̇͒̍̅͂̿̾̌͆͆̎̏̀̾̽̓̋͗͌͛̊͌͑̈̑͆̽̃̇͌̍̅̒͆͌̊̽̈̉̍̆̍̌̿̌̿̾̂̊̍͐̆͊͊̃͊̑͐̇̋̌̉̄͊́͊͑̊͊͛̒͘̚͘̕͘͘̕͘̚̕̚̚̚͘͘͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅ. ẗ̴̨̨̢̢̧̨̨̨̨̢̨̨̛̛͈͍̱͙̟͉̼̲̩̻̺͔͙͕̗̰̺̲̗͕͈̫̫̘̟̯̺͍͙͚̺̬̦̖̺̭̦̪̬͎͎̗͈̜̹͍̠̤̲̤͓͙̜̮̞͖̬͕͍͓̥̣͖̱̟̥̙̞̲̯͎̠̻̠̼͍̗͚̥̘̮̦̯̘̮̝̘̘̝̻͍̣̲̳͍͕͇̣̙̯̗͎͇̘͎̩͇̝̝̠̟̮̖̖̬̞̰̼̜̹̼̭͚̟͖͚͈̦̞̯̯̳̥̤̘̟̹͕̝͉͇̗̳̟̖̲̬̫̥͇̻̯̱͓̫͔͙̗̝͇͚̮͖̠̗̖̯̦͈̫̥̹̱̺͉̤̠̹͍̱͖̝̤͔̳̭͙͔̭̟͕̥̗̠̦̜̫̞̯͖̙͖̠̯̞̭̱̼̩̪̰̘̣̜̰̝̠̭̥̝̻̤̟̯̗̲́̋̿̋̎͐̓͆͐̑̈́͛̔̓͌̃̊͋̾̑̄̊͊̾́̅͋̑͛̀̀̃̀̎̈́́̏̓̀̌̆̓̍̎̏̈̂̄́̎̾́̏̽̿̒̇̾̀͌̉̅̽̄̿̇̂̓̄̎͂̃̓̄̆̽̇̈͑̇̽͂͌̎̊͂̾͂̍͆̓̕̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅh̷̡̡̡̧̨̨̧̨̢̢̧̢̡̡̡̢̛̛̛̛̛̰̳̘͎̦̥͎͍̮̜̰̟̼̱̳͕͔̠͈̫̹͙̟͓̫͍̤̝̦͎̦͉̼͉̗̻̦͕͚͚̲̟̼̼̙̘̤͉͎̬̤̭͙̪͍̘̙̖̜̩̯͍̥̳̯̣̼̗̝̼̝͙̼̻͖̣̙̯̘͕̮̺̥͚̩̹̱̼̖̯̱̘̪̼̖͙̲̱̞̮͈͖͍̤̯̱͔̗̦͚̮͉͓͔̮̣͈̫̞̭͍̠̖̘̩͚̗̻̬̗̭͚͓̮̘̪̬͚̫̲̣̫̦͓̰͓̝̲̗̤̪̠̜̲̣͚͇̲̮̯̪͎̼̟̩̙͙̟͕̞͕̩͍͇̮̜͈͈̲̱̖̹͉͖͖͇̻̱͈͖̿̿̃͋̐̆̐͐̾̍͊̈́͗͒̓͊̔́̀͊̐́̒͒͆͊̒̎̊̊̆̈̀͋̑̇͂̓͂͊͆́͐͌̎̔̎̇̒̃̓̂̏̇̌͋̊͌͗̄̋̓̉͋̈̎̊͌͛̒̅͛̅͑̋̒͗̇̑̓̉̿̊̃͂́͛̽̄̇̇͛͊͗̅̐͗̉̃̎͗̏̌̇͒̊̾̅̐̽͌͗̈͛͆͗̔̋̂̍̅́̋̊̍̋͒͆͐̀͌̇̅̅͐̑͂̋͌̃̂̑̿̓̉̇̔̀͛͑̒̊̂̽̊̏͑̈̆̏͂̏͗̔̊͑͗́̈̎̏̃͒̍̚̕̚̕̚̚̚̕̚͘̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝ͅͅi̴̢̢̨̡̢̢̡̡̨̡̢̨̛̛̛̛̗̼͚̻̱͕̮̲̞͍̺͕͈̖̪̮͓̺̣̻̟̲͙̯̥̩̘̟͕̣̰͙̰̱͚̹̬͍̦̭̯͇͎̘͎̜͔̺̹̣̼̘̝̘͕̻̳͚͎̜͖̪̼͖̭̫͍̫̝̠̗̥̻̠͉̖͓̩̥̭͍̼͈̮͚͔̱̖̟̥̣͉̪͈͖͉̤̥̪̰̖͉̦̱̥̺̱͚͉̥̣̫̺͔̟͙̖̟̘̪͍̲̜̜͖͛̎͑͐̎̒̇̐́̈́̌͐́͊̊̀͒̋̈̈́̓̂̾̂̈́̀͗̊͋̀̐̂̈́͐͐͐́̃̋̓͊̓͆̽͐̿͐̃̎̉͊͊̎̉̽̂͑͛̽̂͗̅̑̐̿͆̔͂́́̅̾̔̽͒̊̔͆̂̅̌̒̊̌̉̆̓̏͋̂̃̉̌̉̾͗͌́̌̍̃͛̔͌̎̇̅̈̊͗̄̾͑̔̊͐͗́̆͑̑̿͌̔̽̑͌̐͌̏̏͒͛͐̊̐̐̊͂͛̑͌̀̔̏̅̇́͆͊̌̽́̒̋̒̔̆̑͋͌̽̽͋̆͋̍͊̍̒͂̑͌̆̂̂͆͂̎͊̇̀̀̓̚̕̚͘͘̕̚̕̚̕͘̚͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅş̴̢̨̨̡̧̧̢̨̧̧̡̨̡̡̨̨͍̬͕̱̠͎̹̦͚̜̲̥̙̟͕̘̪̹̥̤͓͎͇͇͙̜͈̰͎͕̣̤͉̣̬̰̞̻̣̞̺͈̮̼͇̪͖̩͓̳͈̹̞̟͖̹͇̩̰̫͖̰̼͔̥̬̠̘̬̹̼̫̫̣̣̫͔͔̫͓͖̰̟̺͖̖̭̘̳͓̫̪̭͉̥͉͖̖͈̟̯̭͈̞̗͙̰̫̮͇̭͇̘̦̣͇͔̝̦̣͉͎͉̟̬̰͇̫͖͔̩̞̲̭̙̗͇̘̯͖͓̗͓̫̟̟̜̘͈̝̥͍͙͇͚̘̬̳͍̻̼̖̣͈͕̖̪͙͔̳̟̹̹̪̩̟͈̹̜̣͓̞͇̜̥̙͈̗͖̻̻͉̫̘̟̟̩̦̯̗̲̠̭̜̜̱̦͛͊̓̐̉͑̔̽̈́̉͐͐̆̍́̓̈́̍͆̔̑̽̓͑̓͋̿̓̐̓̑̓̒̆̔̓̈̆͋͛͊͊̈́̌̒̈́̈́̃̐̍̂̅̽̐͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ ̶̨̨̧̢̧̡̧̢̨̢̨̢̢̨̧̧̨̢̧̧̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛͔̦͙̱̲͇̮̮̣̼̣̞͎̯̠̱̝͍̰̥̭̦͎͉̹̲͍̬̗̟͍̖̣͎̣̩͎̟̥̺͈͖͓͓̯̲̪̙̳̜͍̻͉̺̲̭̭͍̥̣̬͕̘̥̺̭̭͕̙͓̗͍̝̮̳͔̪͖̝̗̥̲͉̝͉͖̱̗̺͈̗͔̲̬̞̯̠͕͍̙̯̫̳̠̦̫͈̰̝̬̩̯͔͉͉͕̙̜̙̰͔̹͇̳̞̗͔͔͓̤̗̹̝̻̖̭͖͚͓͍̜͖͓̦͇̜͉̮̯͉̟̣̫̫̦̰͙̜̗̜̼̳͇̻͖͎̭̫͔͚͕̺̱̥̺͎̼͎̟̖̲̭̼̳͈̤̮͓̦̰̹͉͓̩̟͈̱̼͔̟̩͖͙͇͓̩̲͎̬͈̪̭̦̺̠͇̺̱̰̮͕͙͖̥̟̫̝̫̺͎͓̖͎͚̖͚̩̗̭̹̗͙̹͕̱͉̾̅͐̑̓̀̄͛̄̏͗͂̐̆̿̑̽̿̈́͒͒̔͊̓̍͆̉͒̉̆̈́̀̽͗̉̓́̄̅̄̀͊̌̄͆́̈́͗̄́͒̒͐̉̓̎͒̉̾͗̑́͂̐͛̏̌̄̆͒͐̊̿̌̌̑̑͆͆͐͗͗̌̃̋̽̈̈̌̒̿͂͒̽̔̂͛̍̋͌́̎̔̊͆̏͐͆̐͑̎͌͊̎̍̊͗̆̇̂̂͑̒̐̍̇͒́̈̑̑̃͆̉̄̽̌̀͑̏̐́̇͋͑̔̑͛̎͂͛͂̆͛͛͛̅̆́̑̿̔̾̏̔́̊̐͒͘͘̕̕̕͘̚̕̕̕̚͘͘͘̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͠͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅi̶̡̢̧̢̧̢̢̢̨̨̢̧̨̢̛̛̛̛̜͎̻͚͙̺̝͈̫̤̠̳̬̻͔̬̳̖̥̤̲̪̦̩̳̲̩̳̤̝̹͍͍͉̗̳̭͉̫͍̜̻̳̗̩̗̼͕̲̤͙̞̲͚̜̳̯̥͎̳̪͈͙̳̹̱͖̗̭̙̰͚̼͚̰͖̬̜̠̦̝̗͖̯͎̤͚̫͈̦̞̜̝̮̜̩͚̗̙͓̞̹͔͔̭̖͙̒͊̎́͊͐͐́̐͂͆̏͆̉̑̉͗͂̍̉̽̈́̒̀͆̄̓̊̅͒͌̏̄̏̇͒̈́̓̀̏́̔̾̍͌̒̐̍͗̿͗̃̾̏̿̀̐̄͒̿̋̊́͗̈̏̏́̇̎͛͐̆̿̒̇̅͊͌̽̽͛̆́̐͒̊̂̌̏̑̾̓̆͌̍̉̄̓̿̎̉͌̐͆́͗͒̑͌͂͆̂̓̊̓̆̋̅͌͗̆̉̆̀̓́̍͌͋̎́̈͒̉̏͐̋̌̎͑͒͋͗̍̽͒͒͒̍͛̅͒̀̊͂͐̐͒͛̌̓̐̿̈̏̓̾̏͛̑͐̽͐̍͗̏̍̆͘͘̚̚̚̚̚̕̚̚͘͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅş̵̧̨̢̨̨̼͙̰̠͎̹͇̻͎̟̤̳̟̠̰̠̥̰͍̰̻̮̖͈̺̹͖̥͈͚̼͇̬̥̥̗̣̣̪̟̟͓̺̗̟̱̩̪̔͛͐̃́̍̾̽̏̃͆̄̌̈́̈́̀̎͊͘͝ͅͅͅn̸̡̧̧̨̢̨̨̨̢̡̛̛̫̠͉̺͙̞͔̹̻̱̜͖͎̠̲̟͍̲̻̞̗̻̤͔̭͓̭̖̟̠̘̞̤̤̰͉̤̬͉̜͚̹̫͙̩͖̯̥͎̺̖͎̩͓̭̞̲̫̭̱͇͕̣̻̱̗͚̦̝̘̖̪̙̻̖͎͇̦̺̙̖͔̤̯̜̻̮̰͎̈̇̑̏͌̅̀̂̇͑̏͆̑̔̋͛̅͑̄̒͌̍̓́̋͂́̓̇̾̐̄̉͒͐̈́̊̿̈̊̅̇͗̉̆͐͛̍̽͗̔͛̀̒̽̊̍̚̕̚̕̕̚̚̚͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅ'̴̨̢̡̡̡̧̨̢̡̨̧̨̧̨̧̨̢̢̨̡̧̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̯͎͙͎͙̤͓͕̘͙̜̗͉̝͎͇̞͕͔̠͉̺̝̜̖͚͍̟̜̼̠̠͖̞̳̜̪̰̱̙̤̰͙̥̻͖̗̳̙̘͖̼̪͇͕̖̰̮͈͚͙͕̮̬̞̫͖̞͎͔̼̩̝͈̱͚̘͈͇̼̫̝̤̦͇͖̖̫̤̣͙͕̥͎̩̝̰̬̝̭̲̱̠̳̳͔̪̱̟͎̮̟̠͈͙͇̟͔̦̤̺̗̼̤̥̤͓̠͉̫̮̜̝͙̬̲̠̞̺͍̳͉̪̣̫̫̫͖̦̮͎̻̲̬̖̲̦̯͎͔̟̺͈̲͓̪̗͇̲̦̜̟̲́̀̈́̓͂̅͊̐̎̂͐͊͌̓̇̄̉͂̓̌̐͑̔̎̓̌͌̾͌̈́̓̀̔̀̽̈͂͂̈́̒̑̒̎̃͋̅͂̒̊́̍̎̐̌̑̾̌̽͗͑͑̄̇͊̋̓̔͐͒́̽̽͐̽̔͛̾̊͆́̆̅̿̈̔̑̋͐̃̀̅̿͌͊̄̍̑̅̑̈̂̐̿͐̅͊̀̽̿̑̊̄͋͊̒̍͋̔̋̏̃́̆̃͗̏̆̋̊͂̋͗̂̅̒̾̓̎̆̓̄̓͌̎̾͛̿̋̽͗̊̓͒̆͋̐̈̊̎̾̄̊̃͑̀͒̓̋͋̐̃̂̒͒̄̐̀̔̄̇͐̄̋̎̐͂̎̍̾̄̊̎̌̐̏͒̕̚͘͘͘̚̚͘̚̚̚͘̕̕͘͘̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅt̴̢̧̨̧̡̢̡̡̡̡̡̢̧̢̡̨̛͉̠͇̹̪̮̹͎͍̮͕̰͉̼̙̼̬͚͙̗̲͍̲̙͖̰͎̥̟̹͔̩͕͍̰͚͓̮̜̹̙̞̭̻̞̠̲̥̯̫͓̬̱̹̼̘͇͕͔̼̬͍͚͓̲͕̝̱̤̣̙̹̤̼̥̤̥̝̬͈̭̰̪̦̟̠̖̳͓̭̺͈̺̖̹͚͈̞͔̪̙̜̱̪̘̬̲̪͕̬̯͎̲̻̝̻͔̖̤̖̭̻̖̰̩̟̠͚͓̤̝̟̭̯̻̰͔͍̭̜̞̻͔̱̮͕̭͚̭̪̺̙̦̳̟͇̣̤̣̯̺̲̹̣̻͍͚̗̝̗̖͇̤͈̤̮̼͎̳̣̙̰̠͇͓̣̲̜̳̙̪̭̗̦̞͈̘͉̳͑͆̾̇̅̀̇͛̊͌̈́̽͆̈́́̌͆̒͆͆̉́̈̆̑̇̒̊͛̊̿͑̽̿̂̍̃̅̃͐̏̎̊̾̅͐̂̂̀̚͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅ ̷̡̡̧̡̛̛̛̫̰̻̪̪̪̟̯̖͕̙̱̻͕͎̱̼͈͉̠̗̖̭̲̱̝̘͉̥̭̼̟͈̭̺̙̱̜͚̫̼̳͙̹̭̐̉̉͛̍̐̇̍̂͒́̑̐̂͒́̒̈́̑̍̊͗̅̃͆͐͛͋̍̽͊̔̄̒̒̿̄͑͗͐̄̌̆̌́̆̀̑̑̉̉̎͛͆̂͆̉̅͊̽̽̽́̈̎͐̃͒͑̑͛͗͊͋͆̉̋͐̽͋͆̂̽̑̾͗̂̾͌̀̈͗̉̈́̄̂̌̒͑̇͐̊͊͐̕̕̚͘̕̚̕͘͘͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅf̵̡̨̡̢̨̨̧̧̧̧̧̨̡̨̡̧̨̢̨̧̨̛̛̛̛̟̝̮͇̙̳̙͚̪̦͓̭̻̗̯̺͙̺̝͇͔̫̪̰̦̱͇̯̗͔̜̲̠̲̲̰͇̮̘̝͓̪̳̖͓͚̟̙͔̥̪͙͎͖͕̳͉̠̫̦͚̻̠̤͚̖̮̳̱̻̬͉̘̝̜̪̲̹̝̹̣̩̣̮̼͎̼̩̪͕̬̰̥̲̫̠̠̟̮̭͕͍͙̭̣̤̰̘͎̟̦̼͚͈̭̬̟͔̬̹̯̯͈͙̟͓̳̩̼̱̘̘͚͖̱̤̖͖̹͚̠̹̘̹̦͖̝̜̟̭͕͕̜̘͖̦̗͇͉̲̠̟͉̭̱̗̮̭̠̲̬͓̭̲̗̹̩̺̗͎͚͇̞̠̻̥͖̗͇̻͍̰͚̫͚͈̖͕̻̫̘̼̰̬͓̺̺͚͓̞̠̠͓͎̫̪̦̭̠̖̹̻̮̩̺̙͚̫̟̲̙͍̹̙̲̐́̋͂̆̈́̔̃̒̇̆̽̉̉͊̍̽̿̋̑̌̃̉̀͑̿̓͛͋̋͒̑͗͊̿̎͐͐̒͆̑̾͂̄̆̽́͒̈̾̍̏͆̉̐̋̔͒̿̂̔̆̐́́̈́̔͒͗̏̄̄͐̀̽͛̽͂̽̇̃̆̄̀͊̊͐͂̃̏͐̐̅͐̉͂̍̄̍̈̌̀̂̄̒̚̚̚̚͘̕̚͘͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅạ̵̢̧̨̧̢̧̢̨̡̢̢̢̨̢̢̡̡̡̢̳̺̼͎͕̝̣̲̼̟̩̻͇̞͍͓̖͚̻̞̪̥̬̼̪̥̣̮̙̣̣̖̟̰͎͙͇͔̗̹̦͔̩̜̪͍̠̹̳̖͎͕̳̼̠̻̣̱̺̫̱͚̹̩̹͖̹̥̰͓̺̬͇̲̖͙̳̯͕̟͉͚̹͙̳̖̬̥̬̠̙̜̟̞̠̳̦̩̼̗̦̻̪̤̜͔͚̲̗͎̪̭͎̟̜͍̺͚̮͙͍͙̣̳̥̝̪̮̖̖̠̪̹̮̥̼̺̣̺͙̳̼̙͍̹̗̰̙̝̤̖̞̙͚̰̗̫͈̙̤̘̙̜̝̺͉̣͔͆̍͋̈́̍͐́̐̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅͅí̴̡̨̡̨̢̨̧̧̨̧̢̧̧̡̨̨̢̨̨̨̡̡̧̢̢̡̨̢̧̢̞̲̺̭̜̖̣̝͇̺̘̯̙̰̤͔̺͙̤̤̟̲̩̟̻̰͕͚̩̫̞̹̯̙͍̻͍̮̥̪̮̫̹͍̲̩̣͓̭̰̖̫͉̲̭͓͍͓̫̜͚̩̯̝̩͕̬̞͉̙̯͖͔̗̟̞̬̳̦͖̥̳̦̘̫͎̖͈̞̭̥̜̮̬̠̠͙͕̟̜̱̫̮͔̣̠͇͉̬͙̞͇̣̯̥̬̳̲̣̜͉̰̭̻̲̪̟̗̞̭̹͖̟̣̗̜͓̦̗͕̩͔̝͉̖̫̠͇͖̫̹̳̬̪͓͔̬̟̺͔͓͔͎̪͕͈͈͕̹̦̫͇̰̘̘̙͙̭̦̪̞̜̲̦̳͎̥͚̹̘̭̪̺̲̬̣̯̯̯̳̞̠͎͎̘͚͕̞̗̏̔̂̔̅̅̀̔̏̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅr̶̢̧̧̢̢̢̡̨̨̨̨̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̹͖͎̳̹̤̖͚̘̳̮̙̺̙͕͓̭͇̞̘̣̮͈͕̖̻͔̻̠͙̞̳̞̥̪̫̥̩͓͓̘̬̪̭̠̳̱͎͕͓̜̰̮̼͖̗̤̖̳̮̯͓̗͖̗̰̹̩͔͇̮̳̪͉͙̦͚͇͚̦̝̲̪͈̮̲̺̝̣̪̤̟͓͓̟͉̙̗̟̰̹̻͖̮̜̮̠͙̣̥̜͚̞̭̹̬͈̱̰̯̳̱̖͍̮̳̟̟̦̫̺̗̱̤͈͖̞̰̹͎̭̼̮̯͓̜̟̥̞̜̞̺̣͕͙̭͔̪͔͕̩̟͙͕̳̬̞̘͓̥̦͚̦̞̜͇͔̥̠̤̹̫̤̠͇̲̣͎̘̗͈̯̣̮̥͉̤̟̳̖̳̱̪̹͙̟͔̫̤͍͇͓̝̰͎͕̙͖͈͉̥̘̻̰̯̟̊̍̀̿̐̅̎͛̂̓̔̓̈́̇̑̋̓̓͆͛̉̐͐̊̎̎̌̾͗̄̉͌̾͐̍̓̊̿̈́̋͆̄̀̈̓̎̍̿̌̋̃͋̎̿͒͋̑̌̽̄͂͊̌́͛̄̄̾̃̑̐͌̓̇̔̄̿͂͐̊̌̌̇́̑͌̔̀̀͊̇̿̉̑̂̎̈̒͌̽̅̃̄̅͌̋̅̆̇̇̉͆͐̽̿̏̍͂͆̿͆̀̑̉̏̑͆͌̑͒̂̀͑̒͒͛̀̾͑͑̑̔͑̄̆̇͒̍̅͂̿̾̌͆͆̎̏̀̾̽̓̋͗͌͛̊͌͑̈̑͆̽̃̇͌̍̅̒͆͌̊̽̈̉̍̆̍̌̿̌̿̾̂̊̍͐̆͊͊̃͊̑͐̇̋̌̉̄͊́͊͑̊͊͛̒͘̚͘̕͘͘̕͘̚̕̚̚̚͘͘͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅ  
This ❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ  
Isn’t Fair.  
This ❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ  
Isn’t Fair.❄̸̨̢̧̢̢̡̡̢̗͈̯̦̻̺̥͍̣͓̤̯̳̹̝̙̼̣͈͚̜̫͕͚̟͈̗̥͇̺̼̯̗̞̰̺̝̝̭͉͕̼̬̭͈̩̹̠͙̬̜̳̲̦̠̖̯̳̰͍̦̤̜͈̩̰̪̺̰̤͉̳̜̘̹͕̭͔̞̣̪̟̹͎͕͔̯̹̹̩̪̙̺̦͖̮̼͙͖̜͚͇̞͖̖̼͈̙̝̱͓̜̟͈̯̪̝͈̫͖͎͕̲̻̣̯͈̪͔̼̰̣͍̥͉͗̒̓̋̋̔̀̃̀̇̉͂̑̀͜͜͜͠ͅ︎̵̧̡̢̨̛̛͇͙̹̱̤̜̬̟̭͎̝͎̟̠̩̥͍̟͇͉̰͕̭̖͈͔͇̼̱̺͖͙̘̞͚̬̮͕̞̞͎̻̜̯͈̲̫̳̣͔͈̹̗̖̭̮͖͚͈̮̩͇̞͔̜͓͙̹͓̋͂̆̀̂́͊̾̆̎̾͌̆̒̌̉̄̏̑̔̈͋̑͂͂̊̓̀̆̾́̉̌̐̌̑̾̓̇͗̾̂̀̈́̉̏̔͂̒̉̀̅̈̄̐̍́̓͊͌̅̔͌̒̔̅̃̓̇̆̄̆̎̃̃͂͒̅͋͌͗̿̇̿̓̍̎͛̇̋̄̅͒͗̚̚͘̚̚̚̚̚͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ♒̵̢̢̡̛̛̛̛͍̬̙̟͓͓̭̳̙̤̱̮̻̩̠̭͓̬̫̰̺͉̮̫͉͉̝̬͉̦̻̙͚̭͎̞̮͍͕̼̯̖̫͔̮̪̼̠̜̻̖̄̍̐̾́̋̽̅̊̅͊̄̇͒̀̓̎̑̍̈́́͊̔͂́͐̇͂̄̐̍̿̽̿̀͋͂̓̇͂̾̌̏͛̈́͒̊̄̊̿̓̀̆̄͂̿̂̌̔̌̅̐̀̅́̈͛̏̃͋̒̇̌͋͛̌̃̄̔̿̊̅̓̽̉̂̚̕̕̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͠͝͠ͅ︎̵̡̡̨̨̛͎̙͈̺̲̗̼̯̖͚̰͚͕̠̜̖̣̪͙͙̻̜̞̙̼̤̬̹̫͎͕̔̐̀͗̄̉̒̊̈́̾̄̒̉̐͐̄̂̍͊̄̒͐̋̋̀͋̔̾͐̌͌͂̍̏̾̑͌̄̅̊̽́̾́̓̒̉͋̒̔́̇́̉̎͌͐̒̀̎̓͌̇͗̊́͌͒̊͌̓̿̃͂̾̉̃̊̂͆̉͋̑̿͛͊͊̋̉͘̚̚͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͝♓̶̧̡̢̢̧̧̧̡̨̨̧̢̛͚̹̪̺͕̖̤̤̦̹̜̠̫͓̭͈͉͇͖̺͔̩̙̜̠̪͖̤͖͓̟̥̪̰͉̣͕̳̱͈̞͈̘̘̻̺͇͓̲̬̠͉̯̯̰̳̙̼͉̻̤̦̙̞̮̲̬̞̦̳̺̻̬͙̗͎̰̰̜͉̠͚̟̝̯̮̮̬̼̙̩̩̬͙̦̪͓͍̮̟̲̙͎̙̦͕̯̜̻͙̲̜͍̤͈̙̠̳̖̻̳̼̠̺͕͉͉̼̰̩̜͚͙̣̯̠̥̤̭̩͉̺̟̤̟̺͈̭̠̜̣͌̈̈̈́̎̐̑͌̐̈́̑̈́̾̏̾͗̽̐͌͑̊̌́̃̓̓̽̄̍̎̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅ︎̴̧̢̨̧̡̧̨̧̢̢̢̧̨̛̲̳̖͈̘͕̹̖̲̺̖͉̖͎̹̝͚̹͇̘̺̺͖̖̪͉̱̬̤͓͓̺̫͎̖̰͇̫̭͎̘̗̪̞͍̱̜̠͕͕̭̱̖͚̥͖̳̟̮̩̮̺̗̥̥̞̲̫͓̮̟͓̦̗̞̙͚̹̰̠̝͕͉͖͍̪̱̦̻̬͖̹̲͙̣̳̪̘̟̠̱̱̱̤̠̝̲̺͇̩͚̣̭̜̱̟̦̯̘̗̜̥̮͔͕͔͔̣̼͉̤̤͖̺̹̯̠̣̝̙̜̞̱̯̝͓̋̉̿̍̉̒̽̈́̿͑̑̒̈́̒̽̓͛̈̉̽͆͒͒̈́̊͋͌͒̂͊̽͛̏̒̅̈́̐̂̅͆̾̏͋͆̈́͂̔̏̒͛́̎̐͛̾͒̆͐̉̆̏̉͆̎̄͂̆̓͗͛̎̇̈̈͋̆̄͑̉͊̽͐͆̃͌͌̊͘͘̚͘͘͘̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅ⬧̸̡̧̨̢̨̢̡̢̧̨̧̨̛̛̛͓͚̥̞̪͉͚̩̦̳̼͕̩̜̠͎̲̳̣̗͇̩̜̯͍̲̞̤̤͕͓͕̦̰͖̼̼͙̝̦̥̯̭̮̞͇̦͓̣̟̺̠͕̱̙̖̬͍̱̟̝͖̟̜̣̙͍͖̣̲͎̮̮͕̦͖̯̺̼̱͉͍̱̺͙͕͈̩͕͈̺̦̮͓͕̤͉̠̞̬̰̥̙̤̭̰̹͍̙͉̟͙̼͎̯̱̦͚̬̰͓͔̺̗̦̯̖̥̺̬̀̄̄̃̉̔̊͂̑͑͛͗̀̂͛̎̌̀̽̈́̿̏͛̾͋̊̾̃͐͒̉̌͆̍̋͂̇͆̓̊̏̈́͋̓͗͊͐̃͋̆̐̑̉̈͋̄͊̽̍̐̊͒͒̉̌͗͋̋̏̎̊̐̈̃͋̄́͋̀͗̓͒̉̄̇͑̒̾̓͛́̂̍͑̌͛̂̒̇̎̈̀͑͘̕̚͘̕͘͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅ︎̷̛̛̥̦̙̮͍̪̹̜͔͊̿̾͊̊̎͌͋̆͆͗̈́̿͐̂̂̀̾̓͒̽́̀͐̒̈́͑́͌̌̏́͊̒̐͐̂̏̈́́̇̌̿̾̌̐̀͂̏̉͑̉̅̀͋̅̉͆̓͑̋̓͛̓̉̀͋͒̍̀̾̏̓͌̋̇̅̄͌͆̀͊̌̄̿̆̔̉̀̓̓̔̒́͑̒̒̓̂̾̚̚͘̚̚̚̕͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ ̶̡̡̢̡̖̯̺͇̟̰̺̝̼͙̦͖̟̤̠̫̯̜̗̣̖̹͉̹̰̽̓̍̓̈́͌͛̏̎̽̃̇͜ͅ♓̸̹͈͈̺̀̅̊̈͌͊̐̿̅̍̍̆͂͝︎̶̨̡̢̡̨̛̛̛̛̛͉̮͙͇̮̟͎̳̙̖͚͖̻͙̦̣̖̼͈͉͉̱͎͎̟̲̲̫͉̭̣̜̮̰̠̪̼̬͎̰̻͙̯̩̫̫̻̩̮̜̟̭͖̠̜͉̺͉̝̭̥̬̰̪͕̻̞̥̪͖͈̠͕̥̣̹̟͕͇̪̞̘̮̠̞̥̹̣͓̜͉̞̍́̄͆̓̽̽͑̐̈́̈́̎̆̀͊͆̈́̏̊́̅͊̈́̽͋͊̎̓͛̿̇̃͒́̑͒̎̈͒̐́̅̑͌͒̔̒̔̔̄́͂͆̋̓̅̓̅͊͋͋͛̿̍͐͂͂͛̀̌̍͊̋̉͑̃̾̇͆̈́̋̈̾̍͊̽͊̊͒̓͋͆̑̍͗̅̾̎̈̌̏͌̆̂̎̄̈̿̆͋̂́̇͌́̇̃͒̔̐̅̽̎͐̿͗̅͘̚̚̚̚̕̚͘͘̕̕̚͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅ⬧̸̢̡̡̢̧̨̡̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͙̦̥̳͎͎͇͍̼̟̮̝͙̻̻͈̼͍̼̦̻̭̘͖͖͈̙͙͉̫̹̖̻͚̦͎̯̺̳̗͓͍̦͎̟͇̠̘̭̱̰͎̞̲͖̦̘̺̹̙͉̱̰̘͍̤̭̙̦̮͚̗̯̦̖̫̹̬̘̦̣͉͖̣͕͈̠͎̺͔͓̩͇͚͖̹̞̥̻̩͚̮̰͈̝̥̗̟̜̖͍͖͇͍̦̬̬̤̙̇̈́̊̈́͐̿̊͑͑̈́̿̐͊̀͑͗̏̈́̓͌͌͌͐̑͌̀͑͑̂̂͊̈́͂͑̈́͌͐̈́̇̓̈́̌̇̓̓̋̽̎̆͑͋̾̎̉́̑̆̉̉̾͂́̒͒̋̓̄̑̄͒̏́̔͂̐̅̒̇͗̍̓̌̾̂̿͐̐͗̄̂̎̔̀̚͘̚̕͜͜͠͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅ︎̷̧̧̧̧̨̧̢̧̢̥̘̫͇͓̫̤̮̘̼̯̙͙̳̹̤̪̺̮̠̗̣̬̰̬̖̭̮̪͈͖̫̱͇͎͉̜͕͕͇̪̩͚̪͉͓̦͕̺̤̳̥͇̬̺̳͕̻͇̯̱̱̣̭͓͔̼̼̙̦̺͓̖̤͔̘͚͈̩̟̻̗̹̣̬̺̮̮̳̝͔͈͍͓͔͇̩̱̭̥̫̲̥̙̩̌͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ■̴̧̧̢̡̡̛̛͈̜̺̹̩̙̥̻̬̪̗̪̜̬͕̟̳͙̫̫͖͚̠͉̘̲̰̫̳̝̦͕̮̱͓̣͍̩͍̝̬̬̬͔̙͙̮͉̥̑̈́̆̍͂̏̔̽̔̐̐̊̃͊͂̈̏̄̊͑̐̆̈́͋͊̆̌͐̓̂̃̎̉̃̈́̊̔̈̍̈́̑̍͗͂͆̂̊̓́̾̈́̋̊̏̽̇̋̔́̑͆̐̏̂̄̌̇͂́̾̅̔̋̂͒̉̎̒̂̈͒̃̒͆͐͑̇̈̃̔͂͋̽̀̄̅̊̀͌͊̚͘̚͘͘̚̕͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅ︎̸̢̨̧̡̡̡̢̢̡̨̢̧̡̛̛̛̛̛̱̦̩̤̹̹͚̯͉̜͚̟̦̠̦͇̬͙͙̲͕͉͇̜̺̟̻̺̺͍̮͇͕̯̜̱̖͍̦͙̰͍̟̳̘̳̮̗͓̠̘͉̥̳̩̟̭̱̞̥̦̣̲̲̹͖̰͉̭̪̝̩̭̖̗͖̞̯̠͎̤̹͖̝̪͎͖̣̤̯̙͔̪͇̱̠̭̗̻͈͉͍͎̼̭̳̤̮͉͈̞͎͎̗̬̮̐̐̋̊̉̿͑̂͊͂̅̊͋̿͂͗̌͆̃̎́̌̔̈͆̌͂͐̆͑̈̀̅̔̀̒̈́̊̊̓̈́̏̔̽̅̑̂́̂͊͂͌̽̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͠͠ͅͅ❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ⧫̴̧̧̢̨̢̨̡̧̧̧̢̛̛͚͎̥͇̗̘̮̜̝͉͇̙͉̗̥̥̳͓̘̰͔̬̭̩̮̤̙̪͍͉̯̯̥̺̫̼͚̙̰̮̟̥̪̠̟̩̦̣͔̝̠̱͚̣̬͇͙̥̦̘̼̟̝̠͓̪̻͇̜̖̮͈̦̞̬͚̟̲̩͙͚͙̗͔͓̣̬͙̬̰̙̘̳̹̲̤͈̠̞͎̘̠̥̼͉̲̪̰͋͋̈́̀̈́̃̐̈́͗̽̈́̒̃͛͂̀̆̈́̎͑̀̽͒̈́͂̓̀̑͑͒̿͋̋͂̃̔̓̉̓̋̏̊̀̈́́͊̽̊̽̈̊͌͗͛̆̋̑͊̑̈̈̊̎̔̄͗̿̍̃͛͐̓̍̒̔͐͗́̑̂̆̃́̿̏͑̿̐̋̅̏̅̏̄̽̓̋̽̓̌̑̀̀̆̊̌̑͆̃̌̉̎͑̑͆͗̉̀̄͘͘̕͘̚͘͘̚͘͘͘͘̕͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅ︎̴̢̡̧̧̡̧̡̧̡̡̢̛̛̛̬͉̼͙͕̜̯̤͚̱̹͓̲͉̬̦̥͚̟̹͉̟̜̪͉̦̤̤̪̩͇̙̟̖̱͔̮͚̺̦̻̙̭̞͉͔̼͔̙̹͖̗̻͍̠̖̙̬̗̮̼̝͈̹̜̯̪̪͉̦̫̤̯̗̪̪̟̬̯̘͔̥̭͇̙̪̘̬̜̫̺͓̰̭̮͓̞̠͉̯͈͕͚̲̗̖̭͍̝͇̺͚̮̥͔̘͍̫̳̜͚͚͎̬̗̝̱̝̘̳̟͓͎̲̪͍̗̠̳̮̹̝́̊͊́͌́͆̈͒̃̋̿̒̄̓̀̾̈́̉̂̔͌̄͆̏́̂̐̋̆̑́̈́̐̏̍̏̈́͑̈̀͒́̍͗́́̓̿̌͗͂̐̋̇͑͐́͒̅̍̐̏͒̍̾̍̄̎̿̓̾̋̇̈́̿̅͆͑̉̑͑̔͊͐̾̏̀̽̓̏͆̂̓̒͐̑͑̔͌̐͋̒̂̚̚̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅ  
This Isn’t Fair.  
This Isn’t Fair.  
❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ ❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ 

__**_❼̷̢̨̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̛͔͓̩̥̦̱͍͈̱̖͈̭̪̱͍̣͓̮̖̤͚̦̠̲͓̣͈͎̘̟͉̹̼̫͉͚̠̞͎̗͖͚̮̻̦̞͕͚̗̞͚̩͇͖̹͈͇͕͈̙̫̦̠͓̀̾̈́́͂͗͒̓̓͊͒̈́̊̽̐̽͐̓͑͌͒̐̐̏̍́̑́̓̎̎̐̆̄̉̾̒͛̽̀́̀͑̍̿̂͗͂̉̅̏̔͆̈͑͒̔̆̉́̈̐̔̑̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ︎̷̢̛̛͖̤̩̜̯͓͍͕̼̖͙̳̖͍̥̖͖̬̝̹̇̏͂̈́̐͗̀͋̂͌̿̈́͌́̈͛͛̓̊̍̀̋̂͑̒̽͐̍̀̀̿̃̆̔̋͋́̍͑̒̓̈́̎̋͊̃́́͋͐́͛̅̀͋̍͒̃̇̋̇̆͆͒͊͑̂̽̃̐͂̀̑̈͛́͗̆͘̕̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅ_ ** _ _

__**_ẗ̴̨̨̢̢̧̨̨̨̨̢̨̨̛̛͈͍̱͙̟͉̼̲̩̻̺͔͙͕̗̰̺̲̗͕͈̫̫̘̟̯̺͍͙͚̺̬̦̖̺̭̦̪̬͎͎̗͈̜̹͍̠̤̲̤͓͙̜̮̞͖̬͕͍͓̥̣͖̱̟̥̙̞̲̯͎̠̻̠̼͍̗͚̥̘̮̦̯̘̮̝̘̘̝̻͍̣̲̳͍͕͇̣̙̯̗͎͇̘͎̩͇̝̝̠̟̮̖̖̬̞̰̼̜̹̼̭͚̟͖͚͈̦̞̯̯̳̥̤̘̟̹͕̝͉͇̗̳̟̖̲̬̫̥͇̻̯̱͓̫͔͙̗̝͇͚̮͖̠̗̖̯̦͈̫̥̹̱̺͉̤̠̹͍̱͖̝̤͔̳̭͙͔̭̟͕̥̗̠̦̜̫̞̯͖̙͖̠̯̞̭̱̼̩̪̰̘̣̜̰̝̠̭̥̝̻̤̟̯̗̲́̋̿̋̎͐̓͆͐̑̈́͛̔̓͌̃̊͋̾̑̄̊͊̾́̅͋̑͛̀̀̃̀̎̈́́̏̓̀̌̆̓̍̎̏̈̂̄́̎̾́̏̽̿̒̇̾̀͌̉̅̽̄̿̇̂̓̄̎͂̃̓̄̆̽̇̈͑̇̽͂͌̎̊͂̾͂̍͆̓̕̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅh̷̡̡̡̧̨̨̧̨̢̢̧̢̡̡̡̢̛̛̛̛̛̰̳̘͎̦̥͎͍̮̜̰̟̼̱̳͕͔̠͈̫̹͙̟͓̫͍̤̝̦͎̦͉̼͉̗̻̦͕͚͚̲̟̼̼̙̘̤͉͎̬̤̭͙̪͍̘̙̖̜̩̯͍̥̳̯̣̼̗̝̼̝͙̼̻͖̣̙̯̘͕̮̺̥͚̩̹̱̼̖̯̱̘̪̼̖͙̲̱̞̮͈͖͍̤̯̱͔̗̦͚̮͉͓͔̮̣͈̫̞̭͍̠̖̘̩͚̗̻̬̗̭͚͓̮̘̪̬͚̫̲̣̫̦͓̰͓̝̲̗̤̪̠̜̲̣͚͇̲̮̯̪͎̼̟̩̙͙̟͕̞͕̩͍͇̮̜͈͈̲̱̖̹͉͖͖͇̻̱͈͖̿̿̃͋̐̆̐͐̾̍͊̈́͗͒̓͊̔́̀͊̐́̒͒͆͊̒̎̊̊̆̈̀͋̑̇͂̓͂͊͆́͐͌̎̔̎̇̒̃̓̂̏̇̌͋̊͌͗̄̋̓̉͋̈̎̊͌͛̒̅͛̅͑̋̒͗̇̑̓̉̿̊̃͂́͛̽̄̇̇͛͊͗̅̐͗̉̃̎͗̏̌̇͒̊̾̅̐̽͌͗̈͛͆͗̔̋̂̍̅́̋̊̍̋͒͆͐̀͌̇̅̅͐̑͂̋͌̃̂̑̿̓̉̇̔̀͛͑̒̊̂̽̊̏͑̈̆̏͂̏͗̔̊͑͗́̈̎̏̃͒̍̚̕̚̕̚̚̚̕̚͘̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝ͅͅi̴̢̢̨̡̢̢̡̡̨̡̢̨̛̛̛̛̗̼͚̻̱͕̮̲̞͍̺͕͈̖̪̮͓̺̣̻̟̲͙̯̥̩̘̟͕̣̰͙̰̱͚̹̬͍̦̭̯͇͎̘͎̜͔̺̹̣̼̘̝̘͕̻̳͚͎̜͖̪̼͖̭̫͍̫̝̠̗̥̻̠͉̖͓̩̥̭͍̼͈̮͚͔̱̖̟̥̣͉̪͈͖͉̤̥̪̰̖͉̦̱̥̺̱͚͉̥̣̫̺͔̟͙̖̟̘̪͍̲̜̜͖͛̎͑͐̎̒̇̐́̈́̌͐́͊̊̀͒̋̈̈́̓̂̾̂̈́̀͗̊͋̀̐̂̈́͐͐͐́̃̋̓͊̓͆̽͐̿͐̃̎̉͊͊̎̉̽̂͑͛̽̂͗̅̑̐̿͆̔͂́́̅̾̔̽͒̊̔͆̂̅̌̒̊̌̉̆̓̏͋̂̃̉̌̉̾͗͌́̌̍̃͛̔͌̎̇̅̈̊͗̄̾͑̔̊͐͗́̆͑̑̿͌̔̽̑͌̐͌̏̏͒͛͐̊̐̐̊͂͛̑͌̀̔̏̅̇́͆͊̌̽́̒̋̒̔̆̑͋͌̽̽͋̆͋̍͊̍̒͂̑͌̆̂̂͆͂̎͊̇̀̀̓̚̕̚͘͘̕̚̕̚̕͘̚͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅş̴̢̨̨̡̧̧̢̨̧̧̡̨̡̡̨̨͍̬͕̱̠͎̹̦͚̜̲̥̙̟͕̘̪̹̥̤͓͎͇͇͙̜͈̰͎͕̣̤͉̣̬̰̞̻̣̞̺͈̮̼͇̪͖̩͓̳͈̹̞̟͖̹͇̩̰̫͖̰̼͔̥̬̠̘̬̹̼̫̫̣̣̫͔͔̫͓͖̰̟̺͖̖̭̘̳͓̫̪̭͉̥͉͖̖͈̟̯̭͈̞̗͙̰̫̮͇̭͇̘̦̣͇͔̝̦̣͉͎͉̟̬̰͇̫͖͔̩̞̲̭̙̗͇̘̯͖͓̗͓̫̟̟̜̘͈̝̥͍͙͇͚̘̬̳͍̻̼̖̣͈͕̖̪͙͔̳̟̹̹̪̩̟͈̹̜̣͓̞͇̜̥̙͈̗͖̻̻͉̫̘̟̟̩̦̯̗̲̠̭̜̜̱̦͛͊̓̐̉͑̔̽̈́̉͐͐̆̍́̓̈́̍͆̔̑̽̓͑̓͋̿̓̐̓̑̓̒̆̔̓̈̆͋͛͊͊̈́̌̒̈́̈́̃̐̍̂̅̽̐͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ 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̷̡̡̧̡̛̛̛̫̰̻̪̪̪̟̯̖͕̙̱̻͕͎̱̼͈͉̠̗̖̭̲̱̝̘͉̥̭̼̟͈̭̺̙̱̜͚̫̼̳͙̹̭̐̉̉͛̍̐̇̍̂͒́̑̐̂͒́̒̈́̑̍̊͗̅̃͆͐͛͋̍̽͊̔̄̒̒̿̄͑͗͐̄̌̆̌́̆̀̑̑̉̉̎͛͆̂͆̉̅͊̽̽̽́̈̎͐̃͒͑̑͛͗͊͋͆̉̋͐̽͋͆̂̽̑̾͗̂̾͌̀̈͗̉̈́̄̂̌̒͑̇͐̊͊͐̕̕̚͘̕̚̕͘͘͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅf̵̡̨̡̢̨̨̧̧̧̧̧̨̡̨̡̧̨̢̨̧̨̛̛̛̛̟̝̮͇̙̳̙͚̪̦͓̭̻̗̯̺͙̺̝͇͔̫̪̰̦̱͇̯̗͔̜̲̠̲̲̰͇̮̘̝͓̪̳̖͓͚̟̙͔̥̪͙͎͖͕̳͉̠̫̦͚̻̠̤͚̖̮̳̱̻̬͉̘̝̜̪̲̹̝̹̣̩̣̮̼͎̼̩̪͕̬̰̥̲̫̠̠̟̮̭͕͍͙̭̣̤̰̘͎̟̦̼͚͈̭̬̟͔̬̹̯̯͈͙̟͓̳̩̼̱̘̘͚͖̱̤̖͖̹͚̠̹̘̹̦͖̝̜̟̭͕͕̜̘͖̦̗͇͉̲̠̟͉̭̱̗̮̭̠̲̬͓̭̲̗̹̩̺̗͎͚͇̞̠̻̥͖̗͇̻͍̰͚̫͚͈̖͕̻̫̘̼̰̬͓̺̺͚͓̞̠̠͓͎̫̪̦̭̠̖̹̻̮̩̺̙͚̫̟̲̙͍̹̙̲̐́̋͂̆̈́̔̃̒̇̆̽̉̉͊̍̽̿̋̑̌̃̉̀͑̿̓͛͋̋͒̑͗͊̿̎͐͐̒͆̑̾͂̄̆̽́͒̈̾̍̏͆̉̐̋̔͒̿̂̔̆̐́́̈́̔͒͗̏̄̄͐̀̽͛̽͂̽̇̃̆̄̀͊̊͐͂̃̏͐̐̅͐̉͂̍̄̍̈̌̀̂̄̒̚̚̚̚͘̕̚͘͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅạ̵̢̧̨̧̢̧̢̨̡̢̢̢̨̢̢̡̡̡̢̳̺̼͎͕̝̣̲̼̟̩̻͇̞͍͓̖͚̻̞̪̥̬̼̪̥̣̮̙̣̣̖̟̰͎͙͇͔̗̹̦͔̩̜̪͍̠̹̳̖͎͕̳̼̠̻̣̱̺̫̱͚̹̩̹͖̹̥̰͓̺̬͇̲̖͙̳̯͕̟͉͚̹͙̳̖̬̥̬̠̙̜̟̞̠̳̦̩̼̗̦̻̪̤̜͔͚̲̗͎̪̭͎̟̜͍̺͚̮͙͍͙̣̳̥̝̪̮̖̖̠̪̹̮̥̼̺̣̺͙̳̼̙͍̹̗̰̙̝̤̖̞̙͚̰̗̫͈̙̤̘̙̜̝̺͉̣͔͆̍͋̈́̍͐́̐̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅͅí̴̡̨̡̨̢̨̧̧̨̧̢̧̧̡̨̨̢̨̨̨̡̡̧̢̢̡̨̢̧̢̞̲̺̭̜̖̣̝͇̺̘̯̙̰̤͔̺͙̤̤̟̲̩̟̻̰͕͚̩̫̞̹̯̙͍̻͍̮̥̪̮̫̹͍̲̩̣͓̭̰̖̫͉̲̭͓͍͓̫̜͚̩̯̝̩͕̬̞͉̙̯͖͔̗̟̞̬̳̦͖̥̳̦̘̫͎̖͈̞̭̥̜̮̬̠̠͙͕̟̜̱̫̮͔̣̠͇͉̬͙̞͇̣̯̥̬̳̲̣̜͉̰̭̻̲̪̟̗̞̭̹͖̟̣̗̜͓̦̗͕̩͔̝͉̖̫̠͇͖̫̹̳̬̪͓͔̬̟̺͔͓͔͎̪͕͈͈͕̹̦̫͇̰̘̘̙͙̭̦̪̞̜̲̦̳͎̥͚̹̘̭̪̺̲̬̣̯̯̯̳̞̠͎͎̘͚͕̞̗̏̔̂̔̅̅̀̔̏̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅr̶̢̧̧̢̢̢̡̨̨̨̨̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̹͖͎̳̹̤̖͚̘̳̮̙̺̙͕͓̭͇̞̘̣̮͈͕̖̻͔̻̠͙̞̳̞̥̪̫̥̩͓͓̘̬̪̭̠̳̱͎͕͓̜̰̮̼͖̗̤̖̳̮̯͓̗͖̗̰̹̩͔͇̮̳̪͉͙̦͚͇͚̦̝̲̪͈̮̲̺̝̣̪̤̟͓͓̟͉̙̗̟̰̹̻͖̮̜̮̠͙̣̥̜͚̞̭̹̬͈̱̰̯̳̱̖͍̮̳̟̟̦̫̺̗̱̤͈͖̞̰̹͎̭̼̮̯͓̜̟̥̞̜̞̺̣͕͙̭͔̪͔͕̩̟͙͕̳̬̞̘͓̥̦͚̦̞̜͇͔̥̠̤̹̫̤̠͇̲̣͎̘̗͈̯̣̮̥͉̤̟̳̖̳̱̪̹͙̟͔̫̤͍͇͓̝̰͎͕̙͖͈͉̥̘̻̰̯̟̊̍̀̿̐̅̎͛̂̓̔̓̈́̇̑̋̓̓͆͛̉̐͐̊̎̎̌̾͗̄̉͌̾͐̍̓̊̿̈́̋͆̄̀̈̓̎̍̿̌̋̃͋̎̿͒͋̑̌̽̄͂͊̌́͛̄̄̾̃̑̐͌̓̇̔̄̿͂͐̊̌̌̇́̑͌̔̀̀͊̇̿̉̑̂̎̈̒͌̽̅̃̄̅͌̋̅̆̇̇̉͆͐̽̿̏̍͂͆̿͆̀̑̉̏̑͆͌̑͒̂̀͑̒͒͛̀̾͑͑̑̔͑̄̆̇͒̍̅͂̿̾̌͆͆̎̏̀̾̽̓̋͗͌͛̊͌͑̈̑͆̽̃̇͌̍̅̒͆͌̊̽̈̉̍̆̍̌̿̌̿̾̂̊̍͐̆͊͊̃͊̑͐̇̋̌̉̄͊́͊͑̊͊͛̒͘̚͘̕͘͘̕͘̚̕̚̚̚͘͘͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅ. ẗ̴̨̨̢̢̧̨̨̨̨̢̨̨̛̛͈͍̱͙̟͉̼̲̩̻̺͔͙͕̗̰̺̲̗͕͈̫̫̘̟̯̺͍͙͚̺̬̦̖̺̭̦̪̬͎͎̗͈̜̹͍̠̤̲̤͓͙̜̮̞͖̬͕͍͓̥̣͖̱̟̥̙̞̲̯͎̠̻̠̼͍̗͚̥̘̮̦̯̘̮̝̘̘̝̻͍̣̲̳͍͕͇̣̙̯̗͎͇̘͎̩͇̝̝̠̟̮̖̖̬̞̰̼̜̹̼̭͚̟͖͚͈̦̞̯̯̳̥̤̘̟̹͕̝͉͇̗̳̟̖̲̬̫̥͇̻̯̱͓̫͔͙̗̝͇͚̮͖̠̗̖̯̦͈̫̥̹̱̺͉̤̠̹͍̱͖̝̤͔̳̭͙͔̭̟͕̥̗̠̦̜̫̞̯͖̙͖̠̯̞̭̱̼̩̪̰̘̣̜̰̝̠̭̥̝̻̤̟̯̗̲́̋̿̋̎͐̓͆͐̑̈́͛̔̓͌̃̊͋̾̑̄̊͊̾́̅͋̑͛̀̀̃̀̎̈́́̏̓̀̌̆̓̍̎̏̈̂̄́̎̾́̏̽̿̒̇̾̀͌̉̅̽̄̿̇̂̓̄̎͂̃̓̄̆̽̇̈͑̇̽͂͌̎̊͂̾͂̍͆̓̕̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅh̷̡̡̡̧̨̨̧̨̢̢̧̢̡̡̡̢̛̛̛̛̛̰̳̘͎̦̥͎͍̮̜̰̟̼̱̳͕͔̠͈̫̹͙̟͓̫͍̤̝̦͎̦͉̼͉̗̻̦͕͚͚̲̟̼̼̙̘̤͉͎̬̤̭͙̪͍̘̙̖̜̩̯͍̥̳̯̣̼̗̝̼̝͙̼̻͖̣̙̯̘͕̮̺̥͚̩̹̱̼̖̯̱̘̪̼̖͙̲̱̞̮͈͖͍̤̯̱͔̗̦͚̮͉͓͔̮̣͈̫̞̭͍̠̖̘̩͚̗̻̬̗̭͚͓̮̘̪̬͚̫̲̣̫̦͓̰͓̝̲̗̤̪̠̜̲̣͚͇̲̮̯̪͎̼̟̩̙͙̟͕̞͕̩͍͇̮̜͈͈̲̱̖̹͉͖͖͇̻̱͈͖̿̿̃͋̐̆̐͐̾̍͊̈́͗͒̓͊̔́̀͊̐́̒͒͆͊̒̎̊̊̆̈̀͋̑̇͂̓͂͊͆́͐͌̎̔̎̇̒̃̓̂̏̇̌͋̊͌͗̄̋̓̉͋̈̎̊͌͛̒̅͛̅͑̋̒͗̇̑̓̉̿̊̃͂́͛̽̄̇̇͛͊͗̅̐͗̉̃̎͗̏̌̇͒̊̾̅̐̽͌͗̈͛͆͗̔̋̂̍̅́̋̊̍̋͒͆͐̀͌̇̅̅͐̑͂̋͌̃̂̑̿̓̉̇̔̀͛͑̒̊̂̽̊̏͑̈̆̏͂̏͗̔̊͑͗́̈̎̏̃͒̍̚̕̚̕̚̚̚̕̚͘̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝ͅͅi̴̢̢̨̡̢̢̡̡̨̡̢̨̛̛̛̛̗̼͚̻̱͕̮̲̞͍̺͕͈̖̪̮͓̺̣̻̟̲͙̯̥̩̘̟͕̣̰͙̰̱͚̹̬͍̦̭̯͇͎̘͎̜͔̺̹̣̼̘̝̘͕̻̳͚͎̜͖̪̼͖̭̫͍̫̝̠̗̥̻̠͉̖͓̩̥̭͍̼͈̮͚͔̱̖̟̥̣͉̪͈͖͉̤̥̪̰̖͉̦̱̥̺̱͚͉̥̣̫̺͔̟͙̖̟̘̪͍̲̜̜͖͛̎͑͐̎̒̇̐́̈́̌͐́͊̊̀͒̋̈̈́̓̂̾̂̈́̀͗̊͋̀̐̂̈́͐͐͐́̃̋̓͊̓͆̽͐̿͐̃̎̉͊͊̎̉̽̂͑͛̽̂͗̅̑̐̿͆̔͂́́̅̾̔̽͒̊̔͆̂̅̌̒̊̌̉̆̓̏͋̂̃̉̌̉̾͗͌́̌̍̃͛̔͌̎̇̅̈̊͗̄̾͑̔̊͐͗́̆͑̑̿͌̔̽̑͌̐͌̏̏͒͛͐̊̐̐̊͂͛̑͌̀̔̏̅̇́͆͊̌̽́̒̋̒̔̆̑͋͌̽̽͋̆͋̍͊̍̒͂̑͌̆̂̂͆͂̎͊̇̀̀̓̚̕̚͘͘̕̚̕̚̕͘̚͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅş̴̢̨̨̡̧̧̢̨̧̧̡̨̡̡̨̨͍̬͕̱̠͎̹̦͚̜̲̥̙̟͕̘̪̹̥̤͓͎͇͇͙̜͈̰͎͕̣̤͉̣̬̰̞̻̣̞̺͈̮̼͇̪͖̩͓̳͈̹̞̟͖̹͇̩̰̫͖̰̼͔̥̬̠̘̬̹̼̫̫̣̣̫͔͔̫͓͖̰̟̺͖̖̭̘̳͓̫̪̭͉̥͉͖̖͈̟̯̭͈̞̗͙̰̫̮͇̭͇̘̦̣͇͔̝̦̣͉͎͉̟̬̰͇̫͖͔̩̞̲̭̙̗͇̘̯͖͓̗͓̫̟̟̜̘͈̝̥͍͙͇͚̘̬̳͍̻̼̖̣͈͕̖̪͙͔̳̟̹̹̪̩̟͈̹̜̣͓̞͇̜̥̙͈̗͖̻̻͉̫̘̟̟̩̦̯̗̲̠̭̜̜̱̦͛͊̓̐̉͑̔̽̈́̉͐͐̆̍́̓̈́̍͆̔̑̽̓͑̓͋̿̓̐̓̑̓̒̆̔̓̈̆͋͛͊͊̈́̌̒̈́̈́̃̐̍̂̅̽̐͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ 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̷̡̡̧̡̛̛̛̫̰̻̪̪̪̟̯̖͕̙̱̻͕͎̱̼͈͉̠̗̖̭̲̱̝̘͉̥̭̼̟͈̭̺̙̱̜͚̫̼̳͙̹̭̐̉̉͛̍̐̇̍̂͒́̑̐̂͒́̒̈́̑̍̊͗̅̃͆͐͛͋̍̽͊̔̄̒̒̿̄͑͗͐̄̌̆̌́̆̀̑̑̉̉̎͛͆̂͆̉̅͊̽̽̽́̈̎͐̃͒͑̑͛͗͊͋͆̉̋͐̽͋͆̂̽̑̾͗̂̾͌̀̈͗̉̈́̄̂̌̒͑̇͐̊͊͐̕̕̚͘̕̚̕͘͘͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅf̵̡̨̡̢̨̨̧̧̧̧̧̨̡̨̡̧̨̢̨̧̨̛̛̛̛̟̝̮͇̙̳̙͚̪̦͓̭̻̗̯̺͙̺̝͇͔̫̪̰̦̱͇̯̗͔̜̲̠̲̲̰͇̮̘̝͓̪̳̖͓͚̟̙͔̥̪͙͎͖͕̳͉̠̫̦͚̻̠̤͚̖̮̳̱̻̬͉̘̝̜̪̲̹̝̹̣̩̣̮̼͎̼̩̪͕̬̰̥̲̫̠̠̟̮̭͕͍͙̭̣̤̰̘͎̟̦̼͚͈̭̬̟͔̬̹̯̯͈͙̟͓̳̩̼̱̘̘͚͖̱̤̖͖̹͚̠̹̘̹̦͖̝̜̟̭͕͕̜̘͖̦̗͇͉̲̠̟͉̭̱̗̮̭̠̲̬͓̭̲̗̹̩̺̗͎͚͇̞̠̻̥͖̗͇̻͍̰͚̫͚͈̖͕̻̫̘̼̰̬͓̺̺͚͓̞̠̠͓͎̫̪̦̭̠̖̹̻̮̩̺̙͚̫̟̲̙͍̹̙̲̐́̋͂̆̈́̔̃̒̇̆̽̉̉͊̍̽̿̋̑̌̃̉̀͑̿̓͛͋̋͒̑͗͊̿̎͐͐̒͆̑̾͂̄̆̽́͒̈̾̍̏͆̉̐̋̔͒̿̂̔̆̐́́̈́̔͒͗̏̄̄͐̀̽͛̽͂̽̇̃̆̄̀͊̊͐͂̃̏͐̐̅͐̉͂̍̄̍̈̌̀̂̄̒̚̚̚̚͘̕̚͘͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅạ̵̢̧̨̧̢̧̢̨̡̢̢̢̨̢̢̡̡̡̢̳̺̼͎͕̝̣̲̼̟̩̻͇̞͍͓̖͚̻̞̪̥̬̼̪̥̣̮̙̣̣̖̟̰͎͙͇͔̗̹̦͔̩̜̪͍̠̹̳̖͎͕̳̼̠̻̣̱̺̫̱͚̹̩̹͖̹̥̰͓̺̬͇̲̖͙̳̯͕̟͉͚̹͙̳̖̬̥̬̠̙̜̟̞̠̳̦̩̼̗̦̻̪̤̜͔͚̲̗͎̪̭͎̟̜͍̺͚̮͙͍͙̣̳̥̝̪̮̖̖̠̪̹̮̥̼̺̣̺͙̳̼̙͍̹̗̰̙̝̤̖̞̙͚̰̗̫͈̙̤̘̙̜̝̺͉̣͔͆̍͋̈́̍͐́̐̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅͅí̴̡̨̡̨̢̨̧̧̨̧̢̧̧̡̨̨̢̨̨̨̡̡̧̢̢̡̨̢̧̢̞̲̺̭̜̖̣̝͇̺̘̯̙̰̤͔̺͙̤̤̟̲̩̟̻̰͕͚̩̫̞̹̯̙͍̻͍̮̥̪̮̫̹͍̲̩̣͓̭̰̖̫͉̲̭͓͍͓̫̜͚̩̯̝̩͕̬̞͉̙̯͖͔̗̟̞̬̳̦͖̥̳̦̘̫͎̖͈̞̭̥̜̮̬̠̠͙͕̟̜̱̫̮͔̣̠͇͉̬͙̞͇̣̯̥̬̳̲̣̜͉̰̭̻̲̪̟̗̞̭̹͖̟̣̗̜͓̦̗͕̩͔̝͉̖̫̠͇͖̫̹̳̬̪͓͔̬̟̺͔͓͔͎̪͕͈͈͕̹̦̫͇̰̘̘̙͙̭̦̪̞̜̲̦̳͎̥͚̹̘̭̪̺̲̬̣̯̯̯̳̞̠͎͎̘͚͕̞̗̏̔̂̔̅̅̀̔̏̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅr̶̢̧̧̢̢̢̡̨̨̨̨̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̹͖͎̳̹̤̖͚̘̳̮̙̺̙͕͓̭͇̞̘̣̮͈͕̖̻͔̻̠͙̞̳̞̥̪̫̥̩͓͓̘̬̪̭̠̳̱͎͕͓̜̰̮̼͖̗̤̖̳̮̯͓̗͖̗̰̹̩͔͇̮̳̪͉͙̦͚͇͚̦̝̲̪͈̮̲̺̝̣̪̤̟͓͓̟͉̙̗̟̰̹̻͖̮̜̮̠͙̣̥̜͚̞̭̹̬͈̱̰̯̳̱̖͍̮̳̟̟̦̫̺̗̱̤͈͖̞̰̹͎̭̼̮̯͓̜̟̥̞̜̞̺̣͕͙̭͔̪͔͕̩̟͙͕̳̬̞̘͓̥̦͚̦̞̜͇͔̥̠̤̹̫̤̠͇̲̣͎̘̗͈̯̣̮̥͉̤̟̳̖̳̱̪̹͙̟͔̫̤͍͇͓̝̰͎͕̙͖͈͉̥̘̻̰̯̟̊̍̀̿̐̅̎͛̂̓̔̓̈́̇̑̋̓̓͆͛̉̐͐̊̎̎̌̾͗̄̉͌̾͐̍̓̊̿̈́̋͆̄̀̈̓̎̍̿̌̋̃͋̎̿͒͋̑̌̽̄͂͊̌́͛̄̄̾̃̑̐͌̓̇̔̄̿͂͐̊̌̌̇́̑͌̔̀̀͊̇̿̉̑̂̎̈̒͌̽̅̃̄̅͌̋̅̆̇̇̉͆͐̽̿̏̍͂͆̿͆̀̑̉̏̑͆͌̑͒̂̀͑̒͒͛̀̾͑͑̑̔͑̄̆̇͒̍̅͂̿̾̌͆͆̎̏̀̾̽̓̋͗͌͛̊͌͑̈̑͆̽̃̇͌̍̅̒͆͌̊̽̈̉̍̆̍̌̿̌̿̾̂̊̍͐̆͊͊̃͊̑͐̇̋̌̉̄͊́͊͑̊͊͛̒͘̚͘̕͘͘̕͘̚̕̚̚̚͘͘͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅ. ẗ̴̨̨̢̢̧̨̨̨̨̢̨̨̛̛͈͍̱͙̟͉̼̲̩̻̺͔͙͕̗̰̺̲̗͕͈̫̫̘̟̯̺͍͙͚̺̬̦̖̺̭̦̪̬͎͎̗͈̜̹͍̠̤̲̤͓͙̜̮̞͖̬͕͍͓̥̣͖̱̟̥̙̞̲̯͎̠̻̠̼͍̗͚̥̘̮̦̯̘̮̝̘̘̝̻͍̣̲̳͍͕͇̣̙̯̗͎͇̘͎̩͇̝̝̠̟̮̖̖̬̞̰̼̜̹̼̭͚̟͖͚͈̦̞̯̯̳̥̤̘̟̹͕̝͉͇̗̳̟̖̲̬̫̥͇̻̯̱͓̫͔͙̗̝͇͚̮͖̠̗̖̯̦͈̫̥̹̱̺͉̤̠̹͍̱͖̝̤͔̳̭͙͔̭̟͕̥̗̠̦̜̫̞̯͖̙͖̠̯̞̭̱̼̩̪̰̘̣̜̰̝̠̭̥̝̻̤̟̯̗̲́̋̿̋̎͐̓͆͐̑̈́͛̔̓͌̃̊͋̾̑̄̊͊̾́̅͋̑͛̀̀̃̀̎̈́́̏̓̀̌̆̓̍̎̏̈̂̄́̎̾́̏̽̿̒̇̾̀͌̉̅̽̄̿̇̂̓̄̎͂̃̓̄̆̽̇̈͑̇̽͂͌̎̊͂̾͂̍͆̓̕̚̕̕̕̕̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅh̷̡̡̡̧̨̨̧̨̢̢̧̢̡̡̡̢̛̛̛̛̛̰̳̘͎̦̥͎͍̮̜̰̟̼̱̳͕͔̠͈̫̹͙̟͓̫͍̤̝̦͎̦͉̼͉̗̻̦͕͚͚̲̟̼̼̙̘̤͉͎̬̤̭͙̪͍̘̙̖̜̩̯͍̥̳̯̣̼̗̝̼̝͙̼̻͖̣̙̯̘͕̮̺̥͚̩̹̱̼̖̯̱̘̪̼̖͙̲̱̞̮͈͖͍̤̯̱͔̗̦͚̮͉͓͔̮̣͈̫̞̭͍̠̖̘̩͚̗̻̬̗̭͚͓̮̘̪̬͚̫̲̣̫̦͓̰͓̝̲̗̤̪̠̜̲̣͚͇̲̮̯̪͎̼̟̩̙͙̟͕̞͕̩͍͇̮̜͈͈̲̱̖̹͉͖͖͇̻̱͈͖̿̿̃͋̐̆̐͐̾̍͊̈́͗͒̓͊̔́̀͊̐́̒͒͆͊̒̎̊̊̆̈̀͋̑̇͂̓͂͊͆́͐͌̎̔̎̇̒̃̓̂̏̇̌͋̊͌͗̄̋̓̉͋̈̎̊͌͛̒̅͛̅͑̋̒͗̇̑̓̉̿̊̃͂́͛̽̄̇̇͛͊͗̅̐͗̉̃̎͗̏̌̇͒̊̾̅̐̽͌͗̈͛͆͗̔̋̂̍̅́̋̊̍̋͒͆͐̀͌̇̅̅͐̑͂̋͌̃̂̑̿̓̉̇̔̀͛͑̒̊̂̽̊̏͑̈̆̏͂̏͗̔̊͑͗́̈̎̏̃͒̍̚̕̚̕̚̚̚̕̚͘̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝ͅͅi̴̢̢̨̡̢̢̡̡̨̡̢̨̛̛̛̛̗̼͚̻̱͕̮̲̞͍̺͕͈̖̪̮͓̺̣̻̟̲͙̯̥̩̘̟͕̣̰͙̰̱͚̹̬͍̦̭̯͇͎̘͎̜͔̺̹̣̼̘̝̘͕̻̳͚͎̜͖̪̼͖̭̫͍̫̝̠̗̥̻̠͉̖͓̩̥̭͍̼͈̮͚͔̱̖̟̥̣͉̪͈͖͉̤̥̪̰̖͉̦̱̥̺̱͚͉̥̣̫̺͔̟͙̖̟̘̪͍̲̜̜͖͛̎͑͐̎̒̇̐́̈́̌͐́͊̊̀͒̋̈̈́̓̂̾̂̈́̀͗̊͋̀̐̂̈́͐͐͐́̃̋̓͊̓͆̽͐̿͐̃̎̉͊͊̎̉̽̂͑͛̽̂͗̅̑̐̿͆̔͂́́̅̾̔̽͒̊̔͆̂̅̌̒̊̌̉̆̓̏͋̂̃̉̌̉̾͗͌́̌̍̃͛̔͌̎̇̅̈̊͗̄̾͑̔̊͐͗́̆͑̑̿͌̔̽̑͌̐͌̏̏͒͛͐̊̐̐̊͂͛̑͌̀̔̏̅̇́͆͊̌̽́̒̋̒̔̆̑͋͌̽̽͋̆͋̍͊̍̒͂̑͌̆̂̂͆͂̎͊̇̀̀̓̚̕̚͘͘̕̚̕̚̕͘̚͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅş̴̢̨̨̡̧̧̢̨̧̧̡̨̡̡̨̨͍̬͕̱̠͎̹̦͚̜̲̥̙̟͕̘̪̹̥̤͓͎͇͇͙̜͈̰͎͕̣̤͉̣̬̰̞̻̣̞̺͈̮̼͇̪͖̩͓̳͈̹̞̟͖̹͇̩̰̫͖̰̼͔̥̬̠̘̬̹̼̫̫̣̣̫͔͔̫͓͖̰̟̺͖̖̭̘̳͓̫̪̭͉̥͉͖̖͈̟̯̭͈̞̗͙̰̫̮͇̭͇̘̦̣͇͔̝̦̣͉͎͉̟̬̰͇̫͖͔̩̞̲̭̙̗͇̘̯͖͓̗͓̫̟̟̜̘͈̝̥͍͙͇͚̘̬̳͍̻̼̖̣͈͕̖̪͙͔̳̟̹̹̪̩̟͈̹̜̣͓̞͇̜̥̙͈̗͖̻̻͉̫̘̟̟̩̦̯̗̲̠̭̜̜̱̦͛͊̓̐̉͑̔̽̈́̉͐͐̆̍́̓̈́̍͆̔̑̽̓͑̓͋̿̓̐̓̑̓̒̆̔̓̈̆͋͛͊͊̈́̌̒̈́̈́̃̐̍̂̅̽̐͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ 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̷̡̡̧̡̛̛̛̫̰̻̪̪̪̟̯̖͕̙̱̻͕͎̱̼͈͉̠̗̖̭̲̱̝̘͉̥̭̼̟͈̭̺̙̱̜͚̫̼̳͙̹̭̐̉̉͛̍̐̇̍̂͒́̑̐̂͒́̒̈́̑̍̊͗̅̃͆͐͛͋̍̽͊̔̄̒̒̿̄͑͗͐̄̌̆̌́̆̀̑̑̉̉̎͛͆̂͆̉̅͊̽̽̽́̈̎͐̃͒͑̑͛͗͊͋͆̉̋͐̽͋͆̂̽̑̾͗̂̾͌̀̈͗̉̈́̄̂̌̒͑̇͐̊͊͐̕̕̚͘̕̚̕͘͘͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅf̵̡̨̡̢̨̨̧̧̧̧̧̨̡̨̡̧̨̢̨̧̨̛̛̛̛̟̝̮͇̙̳̙͚̪̦͓̭̻̗̯̺͙̺̝͇͔̫̪̰̦̱͇̯̗͔̜̲̠̲̲̰͇̮̘̝͓̪̳̖͓͚̟̙͔̥̪͙͎͖͕̳͉̠̫̦͚̻̠̤͚̖̮̳̱̻̬͉̘̝̜̪̲̹̝̹̣̩̣̮̼͎̼̩̪͕̬̰̥̲̫̠̠̟̮̭͕͍͙̭̣̤̰̘͎̟̦̼͚͈̭̬̟͔̬̹̯̯͈͙̟͓̳̩̼̱̘̘͚͖̱̤̖͖̹͚̠̹̘̹̦͖̝̜̟̭͕͕̜̘͖̦̗͇͉̲̠̟͉̭̱̗̮̭̠̲̬͓̭̲̗̹̩̺̗͎͚͇̞̠̻̥͖̗͇̻͍̰͚̫͚͈̖͕̻̫̘̼̰̬͓̺̺͚͓̞̠̠͓͎̫̪̦̭̠̖̹̻̮̩̺̙͚̫̟̲̙͍̹̙̲̐́̋͂̆̈́̔̃̒̇̆̽̉̉͊̍̽̿̋̑̌̃̉̀͑̿̓͛͋̋͒̑͗͊̿̎͐͐̒͆̑̾͂̄̆̽́͒̈̾̍̏͆̉̐̋̔͒̿̂̔̆̐́́̈́̔͒͗̏̄̄͐̀̽͛̽͂̽̇̃̆̄̀͊̊͐͂̃̏͐̐̅͐̉͂̍̄̍̈̌̀̂̄̒̚̚̚̚͘̕̚͘͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅạ̵̢̧̨̧̢̧̢̨̡̢̢̢̨̢̢̡̡̡̢̳̺̼͎͕̝̣̲̼̟̩̻͇̞͍͓̖͚̻̞̪̥̬̼̪̥̣̮̙̣̣̖̟̰͎͙͇͔̗̹̦͔̩̜̪͍̠̹̳̖͎͕̳̼̠̻̣̱̺̫̱͚̹̩̹͖̹̥̰͓̺̬͇̲̖͙̳̯͕̟͉͚̹͙̳̖̬̥̬̠̙̜̟̞̠̳̦̩̼̗̦̻̪̤̜͔͚̲̗͎̪̭͎̟̜͍̺͚̮͙͍͙̣̳̥̝̪̮̖̖̠̪̹̮̥̼̺̣̺͙̳̼̙͍̹̗̰̙̝̤̖̞̙͚̰̗̫͈̙̤̘̙̜̝̺͉̣͔͆̍͋̈́̍͐́̐̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅͅí̴̡̨̡̨̢̨̧̧̨̧̢̧̧̡̨̨̢̨̨̨̡̡̧̢̢̡̨̢̧̢̞̲̺̭̜̖̣̝͇̺̘̯̙̰̤͔̺͙̤̤̟̲̩̟̻̰͕͚̩̫̞̹̯̙͍̻͍̮̥̪̮̫̹͍̲̩̣͓̭̰̖̫͉̲̭͓͍͓̫̜͚̩̯̝̩͕̬̞͉̙̯͖͔̗̟̞̬̳̦͖̥̳̦̘̫͎̖͈̞̭̥̜̮̬̠̠͙͕̟̜̱̫̮͔̣̠͇͉̬͙̞͇̣̯̥̬̳̲̣̜͉̰̭̻̲̪̟̗̞̭̹͖̟̣̗̜͓̦̗͕̩͔̝͉̖̫̠͇͖̫̹̳̬̪͓͔̬̟̺͔͓͔͎̪͕͈͈͕̹̦̫͇̰̘̘̙͙̭̦̪̞̜̲̦̳͎̥͚̹̘̭̪̺̲̬̣̯̯̯̳̞̠͎͎̘͚͕̞̗̏̔̂̔̅̅̀̔̏̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅr̶̢̧̧̢̢̢̡̨̨̨̨̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̹͖͎̳̹̤̖͚̘̳̮̙̺̙͕͓̭͇̞̘̣̮͈͕̖̻͔̻̠͙̞̳̞̥̪̫̥̩͓͓̘̬̪̭̠̳̱͎͕͓̜̰̮̼͖̗̤̖̳̮̯͓̗͖̗̰̹̩͔͇̮̳̪͉͙̦͚͇͚̦̝̲̪͈̮̲̺̝̣̪̤̟͓͓̟͉̙̗̟̰̹̻͖̮̜̮̠͙̣̥̜͚̞̭̹̬͈̱̰̯̳̱̖͍̮̳̟̟̦̫̺̗̱̤͈͖̞̰̹͎̭̼̮̯͓̜̟̥̞̜̞̺̣͕͙̭͔̪͔͕̩̟͙͕̳̬̞̘͓̥̦͚̦̞̜͇͔̥̠̤̹̫̤̠͇̲̣͎̘̗͈̯̣̮̥͉̤̟̳̖̳̱̪̹͙̟͔̫̤͍͇͓̝̰͎͕̙͖͈͉̥̘̻̰̯̟̊̍̀̿̐̅̎͛̂̓̔̓̈́̇̑̋̓̓͆͛̉̐͐̊̎̎̌̾͗̄̉͌̾͐̍̓̊̿̈́̋͆̄̀̈̓̎̍̿̌̋̃͋̎̿͒͋̑̌̽̄͂͊̌́͛̄̄̾̃̑̐͌̓̇̔̄̿͂͐̊̌̌̇́̑͌̔̀̀͊̇̿̉̑̂̎̈̒͌̽̅̃̄̅͌̋̅̆̇̇̉͆͐̽̿̏̍͂͆̿͆̀̑̉̏̑͆͌̑͒̂̀͑̒͒͛̀̾͑͑̑̔͑̄̆̇͒̍̅͂̿̾̌͆͆̎̏̀̾̽̓̋͗͌͛̊͌͑̈̑͆̽̃̇͌̍̅̒͆͌̊̽̈̉̍̆̍̌̿̌̿̾̂̊̍͐̆͊͊̃͊̑͐̇̋̌̉̄͊́͊͑̊͊͛̒͘̚͘̕͘͘̕͘̚̕̚̚̚͘͘͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅ_ ** _ _

__**_t̴̯̪̣̞̞͎͓͓̥̟̳͓̮̀ͅh̷̢͙͕̲̼̫̩̭͖̦͖̭̙̜͇̆̽̃̄͛̋̕͜ị̴̙͉̯̦͉͓̲͇̬͕͇͓̖̭̮͙̖̮̭̻͇̦͍̞̠͇̰͒́̒̽̀̄̎͑͆͌̕͘͜͜͝s̶̨̝̺̬̓͐͆̐̄̌̾̾̑̈́́̽̓̾̐͛̌̕͝͠ ̵̡̧̖̻̗̲̩͇̮̻̗̹͋̔́̆͗̅̏̋̅̓̽͂i̵̢̧͎͓̲̼͚͉͎͚̫̯̞̰̭͖͛̈́̈́̑̈́̀̽͂̿̑̀̉͘͘͜͜͠ͅş̸̢̡̢̛͍͚̺̭͖̹̣͖̼̪̭͎̮̺̯̞͔̹͇̱̝̭̭̺̭̿͐̓̐̆̈́͐͛̓̀̂͊̽͒̉̽͆̆̓́̾͛̌́̈́̕ǹ̶̡̢̢̛̰͇̰͖̰̘͉͍͇̖̖͓͚̝͈̭̼͈̰̲̠̪̝̀͛̀̎̑͑͊͒̕͜'̸̢̧̧̢̛̤͉͉͓̩̘̦̯͍͖͌̋̅̌̂̇̓͐̈́̈́̉͂́͋͑̆͌͌͐̎̂͘͘͘͝͠t̵̨̤͚̜̖̬̹͕̰̱͔̣̘̣̹̮͈̝̬̝̥̿ ̸̨̧̩̰͖̯̜͙̠̺̘͙͈̘̲͉̯̜̝͙͖̤̥͉́̇͑͜͝ͅf̴̛̺̮͔͍̭̓̀̚a̶̹̲̝̙̘̘̯͖̬͇͑̎͌̏̒̊̔̚̕̚͜ĭ̸̧̧̨͈̻̺̖͖̳̝̦̪̥̖̱̦̼̺̘̯̯̬͈̹͑͊̓̌͌̌̃̿͗͂́̆̍͋̇͐͒̑̓̕͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅṙ̸̻̙͉̝͖̮̳̹̯͚̖̻̦̭͓̜̱̯̗̠̣͍̳̤̑̀͒͗͑̄͛̋̾̇̿́̋͒̇̔̓̀̏̾̅͌̃̕͜͜͝͠͝. t̴̯̪̣̞̞͎͓͓̥̟̳͓̮̀ͅh̷̢͙͕̲̼̫̩̭͖̦͖̭̙̜͇̆̽̃̄͛̋̕͜ị̴̙͉̯̦͉͓̲͇̬͕͇͓̖̭̮͙̖̮̭̻͇̦͍̞̠͇̰͒́̒̽̀̄̎͑͆͌̕͘͜͜͝s̶̨̝̺̬̓͐͆̐̄̌̾̾̑̈́́̽̓̾̐͛̌̕͝͠ ̵̡̧̖̻̗̲̩͇̮̻̗̹͋̔́̆͗̅̏̋̅̓̽͂i̵̢̧͎͓̲̼͚͉͎͚̫̯̞̰̭͖͛̈́̈́̑̈́̀̽͂̿̑̀̉͘͘͜͜͠ͅş̸̢̡̢̛͍͚̺̭͖̹̣͖̼̪̭͎̮̺̯̞͔̹͇̱̝̭̭̺̭̿͐̓̐̆̈́͐͛̓̀̂͊̽͒̉̽͆̆̓́̾͛̌́̈́̕ǹ̶̡̢̢̛̰͇̰͖̰̘͉͍͇̖̖͓͚̝͈̭̼͈̰̲̠̪̝̀͛̀̎̑͑͊͒̕͜'̸̢̧̧̢̛̤͉͉͓̩̘̦̯͍͖͌̋̅̌̂̇̓͐̈́̈́̉͂́͋͑̆͌͌͐̎̂͘͘͘͝͠t̵̨̤͚̜̖̬̹͕̰̱͔̣̘̣̹̮͈̝̬̝̥̿ ̸̨̧̩̰͖̯̜͙̠̺̘͙͈̘̲͉̯̜̝͙͖̤̥͉́̇͑͜͝ͅf̴̛̺̮͔͍̭̓̀̚a̶̹̲̝̙̘̘̯͖̬͇͑̎͌̏̒̊̔̚̕̚͜ĭ̸̧̧̨͈̻̺̖͖̳̝̦̪̥̖̱̦̼̺̘̯̯̬͈̹͑͊̓̌͌̌̃̿͗͂́̆̍͋̇͐͒̑̓̕͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅṙ̸̻̙͉̝͖̮̳̹̯͚̖̻̦̭͓̜̱̯̗̠̣͍̳̤̑̀͒͗͑̄͛̋̾̇̿́̋͒̇̔̓̀̏̾̅͌̃̕͜͜͝͠͝._ ** _ _

__**** _ _

__**_t̴̯̪̣̞̞͎͓͓̥̟̳͓̮̀ͅh̷̢͙͕̲̼̫̩̭͖̦͖̭̙̜͇̆̽̃̄͛̋̕͜ị̴̙͉̯̦͉͓̲͇̬͕͇͓̖̭̮͙̖̮̭̻͇̦͍̞̠͇̰͒́̒̽̀̄̎͑͆͌̕͘͜͜͝s̶̨̝̺̬̓͐͆̐̄̌̾̾̑̈́́̽̓̾̐͛̌̕͝͠ ̵̡̧̖̻̗̲̩͇̮̻̗̹͋̔́̆͗̅̏̋̅̓̽͂i̵̢̧͎͓̲̼͚͉͎͚̫̯̞̰̭͖͛̈́̈́̑̈́̀̽͂̿̑̀̉͘͘͜͜͠ͅş̸̢̡̢̛͍͚̺̭͖̹̣͖̼̪̭͎̮̺̯̞͔̹͇̱̝̭̭̺̭̿͐̓̐̆̈́͐͛̓̀̂͊̽͒̉̽͆̆̓́̾͛̌́̈́̕ǹ̶̡̢̢̛̰͇̰͖̰̘͉͍͇̖̖͓͚̝͈̭̼͈̰̲̠̪̝̀͛̀̎̑͑͊͒̕͜'̸̢̧̧̢̛̤͉͉͓̩̘̦̯͍͖͌̋̅̌̂̇̓͐̈́̈́̉͂́͋͑̆͌͌͐̎̂͘͘͘͝͠t̵̨̤͚̜̖̬̹͕̰̱͔̣̘̣̹̮͈̝̬̝̥̿ ̸̨̧̩̰͖̯̜͙̠̺̘͙͈̘̲͉̯̜̝͙͖̤̥͉́̇͑͜͝ͅf̴̛̺̮͔͍̭̓̀̚a̶̹̲̝̙̘̘̯͖̬͇͑̎͌̏̒̊̔̚̕̚͜ĭ̸̧̧̨͈̻̺̖͖̳̝̦̪̥̖̱̦̼̺̘̯̯̬͈̹͑͊̓̌͌̌̃̿͗͂́̆̍͋̇͐͒̑̓̕͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅṙ̸̻̙͉̝͖̮̳̹̯͚̖̻̦̭͓̜̱̯̗̠̣͍̳̤̑̀͒͗͑̄͛̋̾̇̿́̋͒̇̔̓̀̏̾̅͌̃̕͜͜͝͠͝_ ** _ _

__**_E̸̢̨̡̡̧̨̨̪̰̘̘̬͉͉̙̮̮̩͎͙̣͚̣̣̩̜̱͉̝̥̗̘͉͇̭̦͍̥̦̣̥̪͓̟̘̤̠͈̟̳̯͙̬̺͇͉͉̩̱̩̦͔̥͕̘̜̲͖̩̮͔͈̖̜̭̦̤̻͍͖̟̣̻̮͛̀̂̀́̈́́̌̎͊̓̈́̑͑̅́͐̂͆͌̌̎̒̚͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅR̶̢̢̢̡̧̧̧̛̛̙̗̭̯̳͍̹̦̖͚̥͕̟̙͇̦͎͎͓̪̩̣͍͍̭̙̯̘̬̪̪͚͕͚͈͎̰͓̙̼̺̞̜͙̘̟̜͚͖͚͍̍͂͗̉̾̄̋͗̀̃̆̓̆̋̽̈́̌̈́̔́͒̉͑̀̑̂̈́̀̈́̔͗́̑̑̈́̋̋͒̃̿̈́͂̏̆͑̇̇̑̂̿͗̐̉̽̊̒̏̀̆͆͊͆̂̏̐̀̏͛̍͒̚̕͜͝͝͝͝ͅR̵̡̨̢̨̢̢̧̧̰͍͖͚͖̞̱͔͎͔̥̦͚͓͈͎̳͈̠͇̱̩͎͙̗͕͓̺̲̻̺̯͈̺̹̻̙̭̱̩̲̯̙̬̪̦̰̪̠̥̩͈̣̹̩̪̺͉̻̖̗͎̖̟͖̪̹͙̦̰̦̬̟͕̩͇͍͉̦̻̤͙͎͌̆̉͊̒͋̑̅̅̋̾͗̉̇̍̅͒̊̂̓͊̉̈́̾̾͐̉́̎͐͛̇̃́͒̋̈͋̐̎͐̌͋̉̿̿͊̋͆̔̔͐͘̚̚͜͜͠͝͝Ơ̷̧̡̨̨̡̨̧̡̛̟̯͇̳͚̘̣̥̦̰̰̹̯̙̣͔̲̱̳̲̰͕̪̮̼͖͓͙̭̩̜͍̥̠͓̥͙̺̭̫͓͉̲͍̰̣͎̣̹̩͙̦͍̫͚͓͖̪̟͍̤̭͙̟̯̞͍̱̩̟̮̭̰̼͖̞̖̲̗͇̖̣̻̓̇̉͆̆̾͂̒͊̏͒͐̂̀̓̑̉̂̓̋͒́̈́̈̈́͐̑̐̊͑́̈́̊̀͆͛͗͋̓͛̔̉̂́̓̂͂̑̄̂̏̆̓͑̕̕͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅŖ̵̨̨̛̛̦̖̯͎̱͓̰̻̹̗͍̆̓̊͆̏̔̓̅̈͛́̀̾͑̿̄̄͑̄̌́̀̃̓̃̈́̃͊͂̈́̊̑͋̄͆͋̍̏̅̀̓͆̈́̏͊̾̅̔͒͑̅͒̑͐̀̔̐̔̎͆̉̅͆͑̉͐͐̎͛͌̀͂̑͂̎̿͛͛̓͘̕͘͘͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͝ͅ_ ** _ _

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__**_t̴̯̪̣̞̞͎͓͓̥̟̳͓̮̀ͅh̷̢͙͕̲̼̫̩̭͖̦͖̭̙̜͇̆̽̃̄͛̋̕͜ị̴̙͉̯̦͉͓̲͇̬͕͇͓̖̭̮͙̖̮̭̻͇̦͍̞̠͇̰͒́̒̽̀̄̎͑͆͌̕͘͜͜͝s̶̨̝̺̬̓͐͆̐̄̌̾̾̑̈́́̽̓̾̐͛̌̕͝͠ ̵̡̧̖̻̗̲̩͇̮̻̗̹͋̔́̆͗̅̏̋̅̓̽͂i̵̢̧͎͓̲̼͚͉͎͚̫̯̞̰̭͖͛̈́̈́̑̈́̀̽͂̿̑̀̉͘͘͜͜͠ͅş̸̢̡̢̛͍͚̺̭͖̹̣͖̼̪̭͎̮̺̯̞͔̹͇̱̝̭̭̺̭̿͐̓̐̆̈́͐͛̓̀̂͊̽͒̉̽͆̆̓́̾͛̌́̈́̕ǹ̶̡̢̢̛̰͇̰͖̰̘͉͍͇̖̖͓͚̝͈̭̼͈̰̲̠̪̝̀͛̀̎̑͑͊͒̕͜'̸̢̧̧̢̛̤͉͉͓̩̘̦̯͍͖͌̋̅̌̂̇̓͐̈́̈́̉͂́͋͑̆͌͌͐̎̂͘͘͘͝͠t̵̨̤͚̜̖̬̹͕̰̱͔̣̘̣̹̮͈̝̬̝̥̿ ̸̨̧̩̰͖̯̜͙̠̺̘͙͈̘̲͉̯̜̝͙͖̤̥͉́̇͑͜͝ͅf̴̛̺̮͔͍̭̓̀̚a̶̹̲̝̙̘̘̯͖̬͇͑̎͌̏̒̊̔̚̕̚͜ĭ̸̧̧̨͈̻̺̖͖̳̝̦̪̥̖̱̦̼̺̘̯̯̬͈̹͑͊̓̌͌̌̃̿͗͂́̆̍͋̇͐͒̑̓̕͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅṙ̸̻̙͉̝͖̮̳̹̯͚̖̻̦̭͓̜̱̯̗̠̣͍̳̤̑̀͒͗͑̄͛̋̾̇̿́̋͒̇̔̓̀̏̾̅͌̃̕͜͜͝͠͝. E̸̢̨̡̡̧̨̨̪̰̘̘̬͉͉̙̮̮̩͎͙̣͚̣̣̩̜̱͉̝̥̗̘͉͇̭̦͍̥̦̣̥̪͓̟̘̤̠͈̟̳̯͙̬̺͇͉͉̩̱̩̦͔̥͕̘̜̲͖̩̮͔͈̖̜̭̦̤̻͍͖̟̣̻̮͛̀̂̀́̈́́̌̎͊̓̈́̑͑̅́͐̂͆͌̌̎̒̚͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅR̶̢̢̢̡̧̧̧̛̛̙̗̭̯̳͍̹̦̖͚̥͕̟̙͇̦͎͎͓̪̩̣͍͍̭̙̯̘̬̪̪͚͕͚͈͎̰͓̙̼̺̞̜͙̘̟̜͚͖͚͍̍͂͗̉̾̄̋͗̀̃̆̓̆̋̽̈́̌̈́̔́͒̉͑̀̑̂̈́̀̈́̔͗́̑̑̈́̋̋͒̃̿̈́͂̏̆͑̇̇̑̂̿͗̐̉̽̊̒̏̀̆͆͊͆̂̏̐̀̏͛̍͒̚̕͜͝͝͝͝ͅR̵̡̨̢̨̢̢̧̧̰͍͖͚͖̞̱͔͎͔̥̦͚͓͈͎̳͈̠͇̱̩͎͙̗͕͓̺̲̻̺̯͈̺̹̻̙̭̱̩̲̯̙̬̪̦̰̪̠̥̩͈̣̹̩̪̺͉̻̖̗͎̖̟͖̪̹͙̦̰̦̬̟͕̩͇͍͉̦̻̤͙͎͌̆̉͊̒͋̑̅̅̋̾͗̉̇̍̅͒̊̂̓͊̉̈́̾̾͐̉́̎͐͛̇̃́͒̋̈͋̐̎͐̌͋̉̿̿͊̋͆̔̔͐͘̚̚͜͜͠͝͝Ơ̷̧̡̨̨̡̨̧̡̛̟̯͇̳͚̘̣̥̦̰̰̹̯̙̣͔̲̱̳̲̰͕̪̮̼͖͓͙̭̩̜͍̥̠͓̥͙̺̭̫͓͉̲͍̰̣͎̣̹̩͙̦͍̫͚͓͖̪̟͍̤̭͙̟̯̞͍̱̩̟̮̭̰̼͖̞̖̲̗͇̖̣̻̓̇̉͆̆̾͂̒͊̏͒͐̂̀̓̑̉̂̓̋͒́̈́̈̈́͐̑̐̊͑́̈́̊̀͆͛͗͋̓͛̔̉̂́̓̂͂̑̄̂̏̆̓͑̕̕͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅŖ̵̨̨̛̛̦̖̯͎̱͓̰̻̹̗͍̆̓̊͆̏̔̓̅̈͛́̀̾͑̿̄̄͑̄̌́̀̃̓̃̈́̃͊͂̈́̊̑͋̄͆͋̍̏̅̀̓͆̈́̏͊̾̅̔͒͑̅͒̑͐̀̔̐̔̎͆̉̅͆͑̉͐͐̎͛͌̀͂̑͂̎̿͛͛̓͘̕͘͘͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͝ͅ_ ** _ _

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__**_t̴̯̪̣̞̞͎͓͓̥̟̳͓̮̀ͅh̷̢͙͕̲̼̫̩̭͖̦͖̭̙̜͇̆̽̃̄͛̋̕͜ị̴̙͉̯̦͉͓̲͇̬͕͇͓̖̭̮͙̖̮̭̻͇̦͍̞̠͇̰͒́̒̽̀̄̎͑͆͌̕͘͜͜͝s̶̨̝̺̬̓͐͆̐̄̌̾̾̑̈́́̽̓̾̐͛̌̕͝͠ ̵̡̧̖̻̗̲̩͇̮̻̗̹͋̔́̆͗̅̏̋̅̓̽͂i̵̢̧͎͓̲̼͚͉͎͚̫̯̞̰̭͖͛̈́̈́̑̈́̀̽͂̿̑̀̉͘͘͜͜͠ͅş̸̢̡̢̛͍͚̺̭͖̹̣͖̼̪̭͎̮̺̯̞͔̹͇̱̝̭̭̺̭̿͐̓̐̆̈́͐͛̓̀̂͊̽͒̉̽͆̆̓́̾͛̌́̈́̕ǹ̶̡̢̢̛̰͇̰͖̰̘͉͍͇̖̖͓͚̝͈̭̼͈̰̲̠̪̝̀͛̀̎̑͑͊͒̕͜'̸̢̧̧̢̛̤͉͉͓̩̘̦̯͍͖͌̋̅̌̂̇̓͐̈́̈́̉͂́͋͑̆͌͌͐̎̂͘͘͘͝͠t̵̨̤͚̜̖̬̹͕̰̱͔̣̘̣̹̮͈̝̬̝̥̿ ̸̨̧̩̰͖̯̜͙̠̺̘͙͈̘̲͉̯̜̝͙͖̤̥͉́̇͑͜͝ͅf̴̛̺̮͔͍̭̓̀̚a̶̹̲̝̙̘̘̯͖̬͇͑̎͌̏̒̊̔̚̕̚͜ĭ̸̧̧̨͈̻̺̖͖̳̝̦̪̥̖̱̦̼̺̘̯̯̬͈̹͑͊̓̌͌̌̃̿͗͂́̆̍͋̇͐͒̑̓̕͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅṙ̸̻̙͉̝͖̮̳̹̯͚̖̻̦̭͓̜̱̯̗̠̣͍̳̤̑̀͒͗͑̄͛̋̾̇̿́̋͒̇̔̓̀̏̾̅͌̃̕͜͜͝͠͝ È̡̡̧̛̛̛̛͙͉͔̞̫̱̤̰̜̠͚͍͕̤̝̹̲͎̲͉̳͙̹̜̦͕̗̳̮̖̤̫͙̬͔͍͓̳̜͚̓̆̅͊̎͂͛̃̔́̒̊͆́͂͛̆̅͒̉̅́͋̍̍̽̎̎͌̈́̍͊̕̕͘͠R̨̢̨̢̨̛̩̻͖̱̼̰̱͔͍̫̤̻̠̻͕̬͙͎̺̯̮̼͐͊̌̽̈́́̀̔̆́̀̅̿͛͂͛͛͌̌̀́̽̎̽̋̾̅̈́̓͐̿̀̂̍͑͑̃̚͘̕͜͝͝͠Ŗ̡̢̡̧̧̺̖̙̟͍̙̩̜̜͔̹̳̘̣̻̟͍̟̱̗̻̹̖̮̖̅͌͑̐̈́̆̂̉̇͆̑̄̿̈͑͊͐̽̑̑̊̓͋̆̎́̚͘̕͝ͅƠ̡̛͕͎̠̦̤̫̣͔̤̯͎̼̝̣͍̖̯͕͕̤̘͓̺͙̖̗͎͈̻͎͕̟͕̻͔̱̥̞̑̿̿͐̿̔̒͊̈́̆̽̈́́͆̊̈́́͊̀̓̽͛̇̊́̐͒͐̃̎̓́̌̊́̍̒̽͝ͅR̡̢̨̨̡̹̟͉͎̝̺̙̦̲̫͇̻̬͙̣̮̗̦̙̝̮̻͙̩̪̲̫̗̳͙̮̹̝͙̳̲̟͊̄͑̍̃̄̾̑̏̏̈́̈́͆̏͌̏̆̏̄̌͒̀̒̾̀̽͂̾̐͊̾̓͂͂́̌̀̑̃̈͌̚̚ͅ  
È̡̡̧̛̛̛̛͙͉͔̞̫̱̤̰̜̠͚͍͕̤̝̹̲͎̲͉̳͙̹̜̦͕̗̳̮̖̤̫͙̬͔͍͓̳̜͚̓̆̅͊̎͂͛̃̔́̒̊͆́͂͛̆̅͒̉̅́͋̍̍̽̎̎͌̈́̍͊̕̕͘͠R̨̢̨̢̨̛̩̻͖̱̼̰̱͔͍̫̤̻̠̻͕̬͙͎̺̯̮̼͐͊̌̽̈́́̀̔̆́̀̅̿͛͂͛͛͌̌̀́̽̎̽̋̾̅̈́̓͐̿̀̂̍͑͑̃̚͘̕͜͝͝͠Ŗ̡̢̡̧̧̺̖̙̟͍̙̩̜̜͔̹̳̘̣̻̟͍̟̱̗̻̹̖̮̖̅͌͑̐̈́̆̂̉̇͆̑̄̿̈͑͊͐̽̑̑̊̓͋̆̎́̚͘̕͝ͅƠ̡̛͕͎̠̦̤̫̣͔̤̯͎̼̝̣͍̖̯͕͕̤̘͓̺͙̖̗͎͈̻͎͕̟͕̻͔̱̥̞̑̿̿͐̿̔̒͊̈́̆̽̈́́͆̊̈́́͊̀̓̽͛̇̊́̐͒͐̃̎̓́̌̊́̍̒̽͝ͅR̡̢̨̨̡̹̟͉͎̝̺̙̦̲̫͇̻̬͙̣̮̗̦̙̝̮̻͙̩̪̲̫̗̳͙̮̹̝͙̳̲̟͊̄͑̍̃̄̾̑̏̏̈́̈́͆̏͌̏̆̏̄̌͒̀̒̾̀̽͂̾̐͊̾̓͂͂́̌̀̑̃̈͌̚̚ͅ_ ** _ _

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__**_t̴̯̪̣̞̞͎͓͓̥̟̳͓̮̀ͅh̷̢͙͕̲̼̫̩̭͖̦͖̭̙̜͇̆̽̃̄͛̋̕͜ị̴̙͉̯̦͉͓̲͇̬͕͇͓̖̭̮͙̖̮̭̻͇̦͍̞̠͇̰͒́̒̽̀̄̎͑͆͌̕͘͜͜͝s̶̨̝̺̬̓͐͆̐̄̌̾̾̑̈́́̽̓̾̐͛̌̕͝͠ ̵̡̧̖̻̗̲̩͇̮̻̗̹͋̔́̆͗̅̏̋̅̓̽͂i̵̢̧͎͓̲̼͚͉͎͚̫̯̞̰̭͖͛̈́̈́̑̈́̀̽͂̿̑̀̉͘͘͜͜͠ͅş̸̢̡̢̛͍͚̺̭͖̹̣͖̼̪̭͎̮̺̯̞͔̹͇̱̝̭̭̺̭̿͐̓̐̆̈́͐͛̓̀̂͊̽͒̉̽͆̆̓́̾͛̌́̈́̕ǹ̶̡̢̢̛̰͇̰͖̰̘͉͍͇̖̖͓͚̝͈̭̼͈̰̲̠̪̝̀͛̀̎̑͑͊͒̕͜'̸̢̧̧̢̛̤͉͉͓̩̘̦̯͍͖͌̋̅̌̂̇̓͐̈́̈́̉͂́͋͑̆͌͌͐̎̂͘͘͘͝͠t̵̨̤͚̜̖̬̹͕̰̱͔̣̘̣̹̮͈̝̬̝̥̿ ̸̨̧̩̰͖̯̜͙̠̺̘͙͈̘̲͉̯̜̝͙͖̤̥͉́̇͑͜͝ͅf̴̛̺̮͔͍̭̓̀̚a̶̹̲̝̙̘̘̯͖̬͇͑̎͌̏̒̊̔̚̕̚͜ĭ̸̧̧̨͈̻̺̖͖̳̝̦̪̥̖̱̦̼̺̘̯̯̬͈̹͑͊̓̌͌̌̃̿͗͂́̆̍͋̇͐͒̑̓̕͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅṙ̸̻̙͉̝͖̮̳̹̯͚̖̻̦̭͓̜̱̯̗̠̣͍̳̤̑̀͒͗͑̄͛̋̾̇̿́̋͒̇̔̓̀̏̾̅͌̃̕͜͜͝͠͝. Ȩ̶̢̢̡̡̧̢̢̨̨̢̨̨̡̢̧̡̨̨̨̨̧̢̢̨̛̟̳̙̦͇̬͍̮͕͎͈͚̤͉̥̱͉͖͔̯͚̺̹̜̣̹̫̯̩͕̠̥̳̞̹͍̖̜̹̜͙̟̙͇͚̹̗̹͉̙͉̼͓͕͚̥̝̪̞̮͉̙͎̼̘̤̜͕̬̯͇̟͕͓͈͕̩̭̦̖̥͍̤̱̜̲̞̳͓̘͕̹͚͉̰̞̞̪̜͚̜̝̮̭̜̭̘̝̰̭̙̳͓̟̞̙̯͎̣̬̤̝̖̭̱̙̱̼̹̗̰̭̺̬̜̺̥̞̖̱̹̜͙͔̩̝͔̞̺̲̗̱͕̱̖̥̲̗̳̜͈͇̯̣̤͚̳̼͍̙̝̥͓̠͆͌͑͂̂́̓̾̽̇̐̓̍͆̄͑̂͑̽̈́͂̾̌̀̀͒̆̾̀̈́̓̔̄̾̽͋͂̎̋̂̈́͆͑̓̓̈́͛̐̽̈́͗̆͑̀̅͒̔͛̔͗̂͂̌̋̊̃͆̌̄̂̌̔̆͑̇̑͆͑͒̈͋̍̐͊̐̿̌̋̾͊̾͋̊̋͛̊͒͑͌̅̉͆͗̃͆̋̂̽͌͋̐̎̓̿͛̆͑̽̇̽͑̚̚̚͘̕͘͘̚̕̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅR̵̡̧̧̢̢̢̧̡̢̡̢̨̧̧̢̧̢̨̡̢̨̢̛̛̛̛̛̛͖̝̜̱̹̺͉͇͈͉̺͖̻̲̮̤͈̱̼̝̯̜̻̜͉͖͔͓̞̫̮̥̼̙̣̬̩̫̜͕͎̯͉̬̹̰̱̰͔̹̯͎̮̞̹̹̦̪̘͖̹̫̘̜̪̜̯̪̲̳͈̪̬̼͎͎̗̦̲͎̪̬̜͚͙̜̟̯͎̻͖͈̩͓̣̩̞̪͍̣̮͇̺̼͖̜̗̦͎̻̦͓͚̝̻͈̩̦̫͔̺͖͓͇͉̟̳̮̞͈̳̖̜̜͈͖̪̩̠̗͔̯̙͉̞̰͉̯͙͙͍̰͓̼̞̗͈͍̭͇̗͔̱̹͖̭̞̩̱̞̟̩̪͈͖̟̜̹̦̣̝̗̗̲͕̘͈̜̥͈̙̘̙̭̻̝͎̝͎͍̝̥̪͔͈̦͔̤̥̳̘̮̗̫̗̹̠̱̗̻̞̞̞̫͇͍̗̳͙̠̭͚̝̼̟̞͕̩͚̭͍̥̊͛̓̋̿́̀̒͐̓̿̓̇̋̓̌̏͐͌͒̐̀͒͐̑͊͐̈́̓̿̇͛͋͂̀͑̐́̽̔͛̈̐̾̌̅͐̇̀̓͐̔͗̌͌̓̄͑̉͒͒̐͆͋̇͋͌̃̃̈̏̅̾͂̑͐̋͐̌́̑̑̋̾̄̄̅̑͒̀̀̾́͐̄͂͂͋̋͂̽̂͗̆̅̃̇̿͛̓͂̒̌̃̒̉̿͑̽̃̐̽̿̂̊͐̋̉͗͊͆̾̓͗̇̈̿̀̂͗̿̎͊̀̑͒̿̊̌̓͑̽̎̉̃̾͗͛̀̏͂͊̓̃̏͌̒̅̔̈͊̐͂̊̓̏̑̿͆̆́̐́͛̿͒̈̆̒̍͒͑̇̔̏̂̋̉͊̌̒̚͘̕͘͘͘̕̕̕͘͘̕̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅŔ̶̡̡̡̢̧̨̡̡̡̧̧̨̡̡̢̧̡̨̢̧̧̛̛͙̺̺̣̜̮̟̬̯̙̼̰̲̖͖̺̻̮̘͎͈͙͕͈̗̫̞̘͕̮̖͕̤̠̘̤̻̱̪̻͖̮̤̯͖̝̣̤̺̙̲̝̳͈̬̥͔͈̮̞̯̮͍̻̘̞̘̝͚͓̖̞̼͔̻̠̩̯̖̠̠͖̰̲̼̝̤̳̩͙͔̰̼̦͓̯̰̗̣̯̰͚̮̱̫͙̺͚̪͕̪̥͚̖̦̼̩͙̬̪͕̹̣̘̬̼͔͇̹̠͇̥͚͓̘̰̮͉̼̰͓̣̭̣̭̗̙̞͔̺̼̼̟͚̥̻̯́̐̍̀̓́́͆̿̍̾̓̈͗̊̏̑̎͆̅̒͒͊͑̀̓̇̿̈͛̊̾̆̊̐̍̄̐̿̊͐̂͋͐̒́̌̋͌́̒̓̐̍͆͛́͑̄͐̂͋͑̄̽̀͗̓̇̄͗̚̕̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͠͝͝ͅǪ̸̨̧̨̨̧̨̨̨̢̡̢̡̧̧̨̡̡̡̢̛̛̛̛̛̥͔̯̱̤̱͙͚͚̰̭̞͓͚̟̪̼̪̝̥͈͈͕͕̙͉̘͙̯͉̙̰̰̬̗̙̘̦̤̻̦̞̫̰͇͇͓̼̫̙̰̭̰͓̬̙̬͓̬̳̰͚̟̳̭̫̹̹̰̳̪͉͉̰̮͈͖̘̯̪̩̝͍̘̜̺̘̫͖͍̜̼̫̯̥͈̹̝͓̖̥͎̰͎̟̺̞̗̻̦̺̺̜͈̣̩̬͔̼̟̲̟̻͉͓̘̠͓̣̖̟̝͓̺̩̙̜̙̙͙̭͈̹̣͎͖͉̠͖͔̤̘̗̺̲̤͔̬̼̤̺̰͚͓̰̠̺͙͕̭̰̳͚̱͓̮͎̱̝͓͉̦̫͇̪͓̳͉̗͙͉͍̹͔̖̖̺͙̖̻͖͈̒͋͆̔́͒̒̓̋̌́̎̾̆̂̆̋̾́̒̆̈́̀͗́̐̊̌̈́͋̎̌͑͂̃̾̊̀̈́̽̎̍͆͑͑͋̍̓͌̓̈̐́̉͗͊̐͂̍̊̆͊͛̽̑́̔̓̏̃̀̎̆̌͋̔̅͂̆͂̏̅͗̓̋̐̔̃́̑̓͗͂̌̋̊͋̋̔͛̃̽̊͑͒͒̀̽̔̏̂̑̔̔̓͛̔̌̎̑͌͋̓͌̅͌͗̍͋̑͛̃͑̾̌̄͑͛̑̿̂͗͋̉̿̇̌̍̔̈͐̅͛͒̌͊͌̐̽̄̆͑̈͂͑̐͒̆͂̓͂̾́̏͋̓͊̽̀̾̄̉̆̕͘̚̚̕̕̚̕͘̕̚͘͘̚͘͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅR̴̡̡̨̡̡̡̢̧̢̛̗̩̬̞̲̼̰̫̺̟̥̯̮͚̪̮̫̣̲̮̭͕͈͓͍͙̭̙̬̱͉̹̟̤̪̞͕̯̺̹̮͚͚̬̯͇̤͇̪̩̲̘̻͈̘̺͖̳̮̝̰͉͍͚̤̜̮͉̝͓͖̣̗͇͓̰̔̑̎̉̏̏̓̿̽̄̏̊́͋̀̀͆̌̂̂́̀̌̍̿̄̅̀̓́̊͆̒̈́̏̇̈́̑͌̒͌͋͛̋̄̐́̓̃͂̐̐͊͂̑͑̎̃̑͊͛̎̊͑̊͐͛͛̿̊̌̀̔͆̾̍́̽̾͌̿͐͊̀͑̉̿̀̏̏̆̌̔̆̽͗̅̇͑͆͌̋̽̒͛͊͊̌͒̇͒̾͌̿̽̒̃͐͋̿͋̌̋̓̀̑̽̍͗̐̒̈̊̽̌͌̅̑̂́͛͌̒̽̒̾̅̍̽͌̇̕͘̕͘̚͘̕̕̕͘̚̕̚͝͠͝͝͠͝_ ** _ _

__**** _ _

__**_t̴̯̪̣̞̞͎͓͓̥̟̳͓̮̀ͅh̷̢͙͕̲̼̫̩̭͖̦͖̭̙̜͇̆̽̃̄͛̋̕͜ị̴̙͉̯̦͉͓̲͇̬͕͇͓̖̭̮͙̖̮̭̻͇̦͍̞̠͇̰͒́̒̽̀̄̎͑͆͌̕͘͜͜͝s̶̨̝̺̬̓͐͆̐̄̌̾̾̑̈́́̽̓̾̐͛̌̕͝͠ ̵̡̧̖̻̗̲̩͇̮̻̗̹͋̔́̆͗̅̏̋̅̓̽͂i̵̢̧͎͓̲̼͚͉͎͚̫̯̞̰̭͖͛̈́̈́̑̈́̀̽͂̿̑̀̉͘͘͜͜͠ͅş̸̢̡̢̛͍͚̺̭͖̹̣͖̼̪̭͎̮̺̯̞͔̹͇̱̝̭̭̺̭̿͐̓̐̆̈́͐͛̓̀̂͊̽͒̉̽͆̆̓́̾͛̌́̈́̕ǹ̶̡̢̢̛̰͇̰͖̰̘͉͍͇̖̖͓͚̝͈̭̼͈̰̲̠̪̝̀͛̀̎̑͑͊͒̕͜'̸̢̧̧̢̛̤͉͉͓̩̘̦̯͍͖͌̋̅̌̂̇̓͐̈́̈́̉͂́͋͑̆͌͌͐̎̂͘͘͘͝͠t̵̨̤͚̜̖̬̹͕̰̱͔̣̘̣̹̮͈̝̬̝̥̿ ̸̨̧̩̰͖̯̜͙̠̺̘͙͈̘̲͉̯̜̝͙͖̤̥͉́̇͑͜͝ͅf̴̛̺̮͔͍̭̓̀̚a̶̹̲̝̙̘̘̯͖̬͇͑̎͌̏̒̊̔̚̕̚͜ĭ̸̧̧̨͈̻̺̖͖̳̝̦̪̥̖̱̦̼̺̘̯̯̬͈̹͑͊̓̌͌̌̃̿͗͂́̆̍͋̇͐͒̑̓̕͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅṙ̸̻̙͉̝͖̮̳̹̯͚̖̻̦̭͓̜̱̯̗̠̣͍̳̤̑̀͒͗͑̄͛̋̾̇̿́̋͒̇̔̓̀̏̾̅͌̃̕͜͜͝͠͝_ ** _ _

__**** _ _

__**_t̵h̶i̴s̵ ̸i̴s̸n̶'̸t̶ ̵f̶a̸i̴r̵_ ** _ _

__**** _ _

__**_E̸̢̨̡̡̧̨̨̪̰̘̘̬͉͉̙̮̮̩͎͙̣͚̣̣̩̜̱͉̝̥̗̘͉͇̭̦͍̥̦̣̥̪͓̟̘̤̠͈̟̳̯͙̬̺͇͉͉̩̱̩̦͔̥͕̘̜̲͖̩̮͔͈̖̜̭̦̤̻͍͖̟̣̻̮͛̀̂̀́̈́́̌̎͊̓̈́̑͑̅́͐̂͆͌̌̎̒̚͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅR̶̢̢̢̡̧̧̧̛̛̙̗̭̯̳͍̹̦̖͚̥͕̟̙͇̦͎͎͓̪̩̣͍͍̭̙̯̘̬̪̪͚͕͚͈͎̰͓̙̼̺̞̜͙̘̟̜͚͖͚͍̍͂͗̉̾̄̋͗̀̃̆̓̆̋̽̈́̌̈́̔́͒̉͑̀̑̂̈́̀̈́̔͗́̑̑̈́̋̋͒̃̿̈́͂̏̆͑̇̇̑̂̿͗̐̉̽̊̒̏̀̆͆͊͆̂̏̐̀̏͛̍͒̚̕͜͝͝͝͝ͅR̵̡̨̢̨̢̢̧̧̰͍͖͚͖̞̱͔͎͔̥̦͚͓͈͎̳͈̠͇̱̩͎͙̗͕͓̺̲̻̺̯͈̺̹̻̙̭̱̩̲̯̙̬̪̦̰̪̠̥̩͈̣̹̩̪̺͉̻̖̗͎̖̟͖̪̹͙̦̰̦̬̟͕̩͇͍͉̦̻̤͙͎͌̆̉͊̒͋̑̅̅̋̾͗̉̇̍̅͒̊̂̓͊̉̈́̾̾͐̉́̎͐͛̇̃́͒̋̈͋̐̎͐̌͋̉̿̿͊̋͆̔̔͐͘̚̚͜͜͠͝͝Ơ̷̧̡̨̨̡̨̧̡̛̟̯͇̳͚̘̣̥̦̰̰̹̯̙̣͔̲̱̳̲̰͕̪̮̼͖͓͙̭̩̜͍̥̠͓̥͙̺̭̫͓͉̲͍̰̣͎̣̹̩͙̦͍̫͚͓͖̪̟͍̤̭͙̟̯̞͍̱̩̟̮̭̰̼͖̞̖̲̗͇̖̣̻̓̇̉͆̆̾͂̒͊̏͒͐̂̀̓̑̉̂̓̋͒́̈́̈̈́͐̑̐̊͑́̈́̊̀͆͛͗͋̓͛̔̉̂́̓̂͂̑̄̂̏̆̓͑̕̕͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅŖ̵̨̨̛̛̦̖̯͎̱͓̰̻̹̗͍̆̓̊͆̏̔̓̅̈͛́̀̾͑̿̄̄͑̄̌́̀̃̓̃̈́̃͊͂̈́̊̑͋̄͆͋̍̏̅̀̓͆̈́̏͊̾̅̔͒͑̅͒̑͐̀̔̐̔̎͆̉̅͆͑̉͐͐̎͛͌̀͂̑͂̎̿͛͛̓͘̕͘͘͜͜͝͠͠͝͝͝ͅ_ ** _ _

__**** _ _

__**_t̵h̶i̴s̵ ̸i̴s̸n̶'̸t̶ ̵f̶a̸i̴r̵._ ** _ _

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__**Level of Stress: 88%** _ _

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__“Nines.”_ _

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__He can’t hear it; layers of static and glitchy code shouting volumes in his head. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to be distracted. He wants… _fuck_ \- what does he even want?-_ _

__

___“Nines!”_ _ _

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__**[ENTERING HARD REBOOT.]** _ _

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___“Gavin.”_ He chokes out, all too desperate and sorrowful. He doesn’t even get to look at the detective before he’s offline. He cannot see, can’t hear- his hand never wavers, no, he forces it to stay. To remain. Steady pressure, Gavin needs pressure. _ _

__

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__Pressure._ _

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__Pressure. _Pressure.__ _

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___**Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. p̠̊r̳̓e̝͑s̭̿s̫̾u͈̅ř͓ė͎p̠̊r̳̓e̝͑s̭̿s̫̾u͈̅ř͓ė͎p̠̊r̳̓e̝͑s̭̿s̫̾u͈̅ř͓ė͎p̠̊r̳̓e̝͑s̭̿s̫̾u͈̅ř͓ė͎p̠̊r̳̓e̝͑s̭̿s̫̾u͈̅ř͓ė͎p̠̊r̳̓e̝͑s̭̿s̫̾u͈̅ř͓ė͎p̠̊r̳̓e̝͑s̭̿s̫̾u͈̅ř͓ė͎ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ p̧͖̜̣̙̖̺͔͓̯͓͙̮̯̟͚̙̱̰̲̤̣̣̹̌̈́͋̃̾́͂̋̆̍̅̅̆͂̓͑̅̂̈́̐̾̏̈̐̚̕̚͝r̡̡̢̛̛̻̖̘̳̯̮͖̠͎̯͇̖͔͙̮̻̬̠̘͔̝͙͎̲̳̓̓͂͐̓̎̊̄̎̀̿͛̀̒͐͐̓̈́̃̾͊̒͗͑̄ę̛̛̥͓̩̪̞̣̖̻̳͓̣͇̫̫̫̥̫̭͉̩̝̫̥̼̙̓̏̍̌͛͊̏̆̈́̊̃̑̓͐̈͂͗́̈́̋͆̈́̕͝͝ş̛̟̜̝͎̲̠̻̩̯͓͖̯͔̞̳̱̺̗̥̠̤̎̐̐̉͐̑͗̄̄́͋̏̏̓́̐̐̚̕̚͝͠͝͝s̨̡̨̨̼͉̺̰̥̦̰̳̺̩̬̮̪͉̙̥̣̟͕͊̈́́͂͛͌̂̈̽́̉̅͋̑͂̏̃͋̈̀͒̅̕͝ͅu̟͉̙͓̥̻̟̗͉̝͙̥̻͓̗̝̯̟̭̝̹͕̠͛̊͐͗͌́͊̄̋̔́̈́͋̋͋͒̏̅̀̾̍͒͘͜͠͝ŗ̧̛̥̗̱͕̟͎͓̟̺̱̹̝̩̲̰͍̟̪̠̬͍͇͎̣͛̐̊̋̆͋͐̑̐̀̔͆̄̔́̍̉͛͊̂̉̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅȩ̡̗̦̜͔̩̻̯̤̖̖̼̲̼̘̬͙̬̼͕̌̍̒̔̉̈́͂̃̋̈́̄̓̒̍̑̔̅͌̋̏͒̏ͅ** _ _ _

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___****_ _ _

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__**_[All Systems Shut Down.]_ ** _ _

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__**_[Force Start Up? . . . ]_ ** _ _

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__**_. . . . ._ ** _ _

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__**_[Denied.]_ ** _ _


	2. Pressures of A New Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin wakes up three times, and Nines is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two gay idiots being gay, and idiots.

Gavin didn’t feel the first shot- the adrenaline and shock covered most of it up, he thought he was only grazed. The slam against his skull rattled him even further, he huffed, suddenly out of more breath then he came to realize. 

Nines was watching, leaning towards him but naturally wanting to gravitate to the running criminal. Gavin was as absorbed into accomplishing the bust as the android, so of course he wasn’t going to be the fucking pussy to fuck it all up. 

“I’m fine, Nines.” He grunted, on the receiving end of a hard elbow. The RK didn’t seem to be convinced, so he side stepped a nasty kick, shoulder protesting at the awkward twist but he pressed on. “Get a fuckin’ move on, I’ll be right behind you!”

That does the trick. Nines is moving, racing away at his quickest sprint. The fucker is done for, completely about to get the ass kicking of it’s life. Gavin knows, he’s lost many brawls to his partner. 

He moves to sigh; the action leaving him gasping and hunching in on himself. His shoulder feels sticky and wet, irritating- but what the fuck it shouldn’t feel that way. His panting is rugged, and it just keeps hurting, more and more. 

Another loud, echoey bang fires off. 

This time, he knows it’s got him. He crumbles onto the floor, dropping down onto it with a grace that might’ve put a crack in the tiles. He looks down; red splat on his chest, another growing on his shoulder, the most recent addition to the team, he supposes. 

He doesn’t realize he’s making sounds until he grinds his teeth and the only noises are animalistic grunts and raging gulps of breath. Now that he thinks about it, breathing does get pretty damn hard. 

Gavin looks up, one eye squinted- there’s gonna be a bruise, he can just tell- the shooter's shaking. Whole body tremor and he gathers that they’ve never shot a person before. Or, as excessively. He only bares his teeth in aggression, going off of instinct. What felt right. The movement was unforgiving and he was gasping on the floor. 

He’s staring down the barrel of a gun, the aim is crystal clear. A perfect shot. All they had to do was take it. Pull the trigger and Gavin would be just another case in some sap’s fucking files. Another name to be forgotten in the system. He stares at the man’s eyes, engaging, challenging because Gavin never backs down. If he dies, he dies fighting. 

He dies in glory. He dies with a medal bestowed on his grave, might’ve not beaten Anderson’s damn record but at least it’s cooler going out on duty then on some suicidal spat. His lips are pulled tight, hand gripping his shot leg and tilting his chin up at the danger before him. Gavin muses, go big or go the fuck home. 

His phone rings. 

His phone fucking _rings._

The perp looks scared shitless -makes two of them, if he’s honest. Then he’s waving the gun around like a damn idiot and barking demands. Gavin slides his phone over to them, they kick it away. 

“Your ass is as good as canned, dickwad.” He wheezes. Sitting up becomes hard when the pressure in his chest just builds and builds. He shouldn’t be mouthing off to his own fucking gunman but damn it! He isn’t gonna go out tiplipped and regretting! 

“W-What makes you say that! I have the gun! You’re on the floor!”

“And my partner’s the terminator’s wet dream. Bullets bounce right off.” _They don’t,_ but the lie sticks. The shitbag is intimidated. 

They step back, now uncertain and unsure. The gun lowers. The phone rings again. 

Gavin gathers his courage, turns it into spite. “Probably pissed to hell and back. Oh man, last time he got angry we needed to repair the entire floor of CyberLife’s piss-white tower.”

Their eyes give away their fear. He sees them take in another sharp breath at the next phone call. 

Gavin laughs, a broken, hushed sound. Like air escaping a ball, fuck, he can’t believe he’s a goddamn deflated balloon. “Yeah, you’re completely fucked. I’d give it a full minute until you’re dead or close to it.”

Ring.

“He’s on his way.”

Ring.

“Sh-Shut up!”

_Ring._

“Put another round in me and you’ll be shittin out lead in your coffin.”

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

They fled. Smart choice. 

Gavin shudders, curses to hell and back and glances around. His phone’s by the far wall- he needs to call for back-up. Who knows what that fool might be doing; and worse, a spooked little shit with a firearm is a public safety hazard. He turns himself towards his stomach, crawls-

“Fuck- Fuckin’ _fuck!”_ He whimpers, shoulder and chest constricting in ways that make his entire body pause and curl. It’s worse then any stab wounds he’s ever felt, Gavin prefers stabbings. It’s in and out, one and done, it’s not torturous and slow, it doesn’t remain embedded in his goddamn body. It bleeds way fucking less!

It couldn’t have been an hour, but it felt like it, and by the end of it breathing is as good as flying. He’s coughing, in the fedal position like a bitch on the floor hacking up both lungs. Air just divorced him. It’s official, and he assumes that means the bullet’s hit something. Or everything. It just hurts like hell. 

Ring. 

Nines- thank god it was actually Nines calling, that his bluff worked out as well as it did- how the _fuck_ hadn’t he been shot dead?

Something comes up from his coughing fit; warm and spilling over his chin. He grimaces and checks his hand only to find that it’s his own blood. Not good. Not fucking good. He should do something about this, at least some oxygen is getting through to him now. Probably not for too long. Just a guess.

Ring. 

Gavin sheds his hoodie, swearing as he jostles his injured shoulder to press against where he thinks it’s needed most. Shit. Fucking shit. What the fuck. He shivers, suddenly feeling cold despite the warmth trickling out of him in heaps. It hits the floor, making a lovely little cliche pool around him. He should be warm drowning in it, but it’s as pleasant as Anderson before Connor came to the department. 

Footsteps. Rushed. Heavy. Coming towards him. _Shit-_

He managed to push himself up- against a broken box. Wow, real intimidating, and tries to reach for his phone. It’s still ringing, Nines’ stupidly handsome icon bringing him some kind of peace; like he’s safe though he’s bleeding like a motherfucker and moving is harder then Fowler’s soon to be paperwork. 

He sees the white jacket before he sees the rest of his partner, Nines drops to his knees and is right by Gavin’s side faster then he can blink. And he did blink. Because Nines literally just fucking popped up. Maybe he’s just delirious. He won’t admit he tried to sit a little straighter and cussed Jesus out from the pain of the action. 

The air got jumbled somewhere inside his fuckin throat because he’s coughing again and can’t stop. It tears at his throat with each hack, blood getting mixed in places it didn’t belong and choking him. It’s only way out and it abused it, he bet that was real fuckin hot to see. Nines only looks rigid. Robotic- more then he’s seen any android before. 

“Did ya get those sorry fuckers?” He muses, breathless and whiney. Gavin hates it but wants to make the tension lighter. 

He doesn’t get an answer, just stared while the LED is triggered into a violent red. It’s flashing, fast. Nines looked as stiff as when they’d first met. When you forgot he existed because he never moved a centimeter and never bothered to talk, if only to critic and piss him off. Gavin loves it now, still annoying, but in an endearing way. 

“Ay, trooper. Nines! You okay?” No response. Another distance look. More flashes. “Ya in there, metalhead?”

The android blinked. Slow. Methodical. It’s all wrong. It’s all making Gavin feel as uncomfortable as a pet in the vet. He finds it fitting, since he’s so fucked up. The focus is on him and he likes it, if not to be able to take that fucking look away. The darkness in those stormy greys. He hates it. It makes him hurt just watching it become nothing but harsher. 

“Hey, hey, stop freakin’ out on me, yeah? Just a scratch ’s all.” Saying that took way too much repressed groans. 

Nines shoots him the most done look, brows scrunched in that cute fashion that has him smiling despite the aches slinking up his body. 

“That’s a lot of blood for a scratch.” It’s cold sounding, taking his grin off his face. There’s a haunted look inside those eyes, he hates it more then anything. Ever. It’s established. Hates it more then Sir Marbles’ morning shits in the litter boxes. 

Gavin raise his shaky hand, damn the RK’s height, and clamps it around that well structured face. Bringing some light back into that void of despair. He sees and feels and hears Nines inhale around him, the tension leaving. His shoulders falling. 

“Just a nick in the paint, hear me?” Gavin holds back a cough, its hard and makes his chest scream in protest. Nines stares so intently at him. Dissecting his entire being in a single look- but this is different. He can’t name what from the burn in his leg but knows. 

And holy fuck- Nines is _crying._

He hates this more. 

He wants to kiss it better. 

He can’t move. Fuck. 

Gavin has to settle for a swipe of the thumb, Nines deserves more- he wants to give him more but his arm is getting heavy. It hurts. It feels like he’s tearing the remaining muscle away but he bears it for his android. Maybe he can do more, if he tries. So he does. 

Nines stops him before he can get far- the shit- and he’s tensing which only makes the agony bury deeper into his bones. Dumbass move, maybe, but he’ll be damned if Nines didn’t need it. The wind leaves his body when he feels a stronger force hold against his gunshot wound. Now that’s a bitch and a half. 

“You’re injured, please-“

“Yeah, no shit.” He’s interrupting because if he didn’t he’d hiccup and sob. Last time he was shot, he’d been alone. This is a stark fucking difference. He’s not sure if he can stand it, or the fucking look of raw sadness he’s never seen before on Nines. 

Hates, hates, _hates._

“Detective, I…” Gavin’s always wanted to leave the RK speechless but never like this. _Fuck._ “I’m sorry.”

He has to fix this. And, again, he tries to. Abandoning his wound in favor of stealing Nines’ hand. It’s bigger then his own, soft to the touch and warm. He sighs in contented bliss before pressing it lazily over his heart, which is still beating, thank you very much. He tsks, “None of that now.” 

Leaves out the bitch, and the damn, the fuck and the shit. 

Wait _shit_ there’s a bullet there- or close. Damn, Nines is looking at it. At least he’s somewhat….inquisitive? Pacified? Whatever it is, it’s better. “Still kickin’.” And hard, might he add. 

“I’m sorry.” And if that doesn’t rip Gavin apart from the inside out, he doesn’t know what does. Forget the gunshots- this is worse.

“Don’t be.”

Nines goes silent again, in the way Gavin knows he’s scanning something. He doesn’t need to have a computer for a brain to know it’s bad, because he’s getting sleepy and tired. The adrenaline is gone, fucking sucks because he feels this so much more intensely. But he feels better with Nines, almost groggily enthralled with a low-level feeling of joy. 

He thinks of his cats. Sir Marbles and his stinky shits, Annabella with her kink for breaking and clawing every fucking thing, Chipper and his sunbathing, and lastly his new kitten he named Cheetos. Just because the sucker ate his whole bag once. He’ll miss ‘em, even if they tried to smother him when he napped on the couch. 

“Watch-“ Gavin can’t get enough breath to say the damn word. “…watch ‘m shitheads fo- _fuck_ \- for me, kay?”

Fuck he’s so tired, he can’t even keep his eyes open long enough to say the entire sentence. He’s sucking in shallow breaths through his mouth. Nines is gentle where he’s touching him, and warm- so fucking warm. He’s relaxing underneath those fingertips, like he’s always done. 

Then the android isn’t so gentle. Jerking him, shaking him up and taking that warmth right away and Gavin finds himself missing it with a passion. “Keep looking at me. Eyes on me.”

And what better sight was there? 

Blood drips, and this time, he doesn’t know where. Gavin slumps forward, resting his head against that broad chest and tailored to perfect shoulders. It hurts, _god, does it hurt._ But he’s close to Nines. And thats all he wants. Really. He would fight the people that tore him apart too soon but the lack of oxygen has made him unwilling to lift even an eyelash. 

______________________________________

Gavin can’t move his hands- he’s sure he’s moving them this way and that. He has to be thrashing because he knows he’s trying to get away. His eyes flutter open, a dull squint as he turns his head to try and see. Everything’s a blur, people are rushing all around him- Connor. That’s the blob; he knows because of the goofy voice. 

“Nines.” Connor calls, and it becomes clear to the detective that he’s no longer with the android. Instead laying on something soft with people pounding at his sides and chest. Shining a fucking light in his eyes and barking orders. He’s positive Anderson is at his side spouting some nonsense about him making it. 

“Nines!” Connor’s voice is a lulling sound- or maybe that's because he’s hooked up to something. Feels something cool enter his veins. 

“Piss off, trash bag.” Gavin spouts, his gaze wavering and tearing against his will as exhaustion catches up to him. Connor holds his gaze, startled by the sudden hoarse demand. “Leave ‘im ‘lone.”

More people talk his ear off, craning his head back and slouching against the cot, he accepts the steady hands tending to him. Before he knows it he’s out like a light. 

______________________________________

He’s awake before his eyes open, doesn’t want to be- there’s a strong weight of sleepy haze clouding his mind. He wants to go back to sleep. Some stupid nurse is whispering, to someone- probably the doctor or some shit- and then there’s hands on his face. One cold fucking hand is against his forehead.

Gavin grumbles at it, shifting away from it and nuzzles against a pillow. The same cold hand is now under his gown and on his chest, touching his shoulder, and then on his leg. The sensation is unpleasant and keeping him awake, how fucking dare they. He’s trying to sleep, goddamn it!

He manages to crack open an eye; shuts it when the ungodly light blinds him to turn some and tries again. He attempts the harshest, iciest, sternest, meanest glare he can. The nurse looks like a blob too- like Connor had, except more…crisp. He can make out shapes and their expression but the majority is a massive blur. 

“Mr. Reed- “ They start before he’s whining and gripping the covers to pull up towards his chin, dislodging her cold grip with a wiggle. The thin sheet is shitty but enough. The nurse talks to someone else then. 

He doesn’t care. They can piss off to assfuck’s Ville for all he cares. 

It couldn’t have been long before things finally quieted down. He was dipping low on that edge to drifting into a dead man’s slumber before something too warm to be real was blanketed over him. Gavin sighs at the heat, orgasmic after the uncomfortable feel-up. 

It’s being tucked around him, in a gentle manner- or maybe that’s just the exhaustion talking. All he knows is that it feels fucking amazing pressing against his skin. A nice doctor with good service. 

Then there’s the hand again, except, this one feels better. Touches him all tender-y, makes him feel giddy past the grogginess. It could be playing with his hair or caressing him, he couldn’t guess which, but it did feel lovely. It was also bigger then that nurse’s. Now, he’s curious. 

He’s more awake, tired as all hell, but a bit more aware as he opens his eyes again. The first thing he notices is another peach colored blur to his right, a white and black mess of a thing under that blob of colors. That’s odd. Gavin squints. 

“How’re you feeling?” The bigass blob can speak. 

Voice sounds nice though, all familiar and caring. A bit monotone if you asked him but he only hums to it, trying to focus more and decipher finer details. 

It comes into a better view when it leans over him, hesitate at the proximity. There’s a strange tuft of shit that’s not going with the rest of his hair, nice icy greys and a red LED, Gavin sees beauty marks and a fine cupid’s bow and - _oh._

“Nines,” he murmurs. A smile lighting up once he was sure the recognition stuck. He can’t really help but to preen when a grin split that stupid collected expression on his fucking face. It was such a fucking win. 

His hand blunders under the covers, earning attention from the android who appears worried before Gavin effectively claws his way free. Holy fuck when did a goddamn needle get in there? Ah fuck it, who cares. 

The arm felt dead- most likely the drugs making him tired, making it feel so useless, but Nines is quick to try and coax his arm back under the warm sheets. Gavin protests with a loud whine that makes his partner freeze. And honestly- if Gavin were more aware, he’d have laughed at the look on the android’s face. 

Instead though, he fumbles and drags his hand until it's groping- or close enough to call it that- to Nines. The movement honestly made him feel more exhausted then when he woke and he hopes Nines knew that when he started to talk. Gavin wanted to listen, but it was hard. 

He fell back asleep listening to his android’s voice, holding his hand, and scooting closer to that side of the bed. 

______________________________________

The third time he wakes up, it’s less nice. It’s probably the asscrack of dawn, if not close to it, and he’s awake because he just discovered consciousness again. Gavin’s confused, more then anything, and before he can think to do anything else; he sits up. 

There’s an icy cold spike cracking through him and he can’t do much besides fall victim to it. A gasp and a hiss his only sign of feeling it since he always tried to mask his pains. There’s hands on him again, pushing him down and petting at his hair to soothe him when he does anything but. 

The flinch makes his stomach tense but he knows this voice. Knows those eyes, that face and ridiculously high collar, those dumb fucking perfect pair of lips that whisper he’s alright and I’m there’s. His heart rate spikes for a different reason then. 

When things cool down, and Gavin can actually remember his own name, does he look up and take in the sight. He’s determined to remember it, if not anything else that night. Nines’ hair is a mess, never has he seen it so unkept- his jacket in wrinkles and smudges, pants entirely unpressed and his shoes don’t shine. 

The collar’s been shed too, leaving a half buttoned black dress shirt and a fine view of delicate collarbones that Gavin tries not to drool over. 

“How’re you feeling?” He swears he’s heard that question thousands of times before, but there’s no memory to the feeling. 

“Tired,” He rasps- curses and clears his throat- only for it to sound no better. The android’s hands leave him, for a moment he’s disappointed, before a straw’s brought to his lips. And fuck, if the thirst then hadn’t been real. 

It doesn’t last long, Nines replenishes it, sets the cup aside once Gavin’s through with it again and then worriedly stares. Fingers curling and uncurling, posture too straight to be comfortable, and he could practically read the stress radiating off the poor sap. 

“Sit with me.” Gavin scoots, shifts, drags himself to the other side to make room. His arms and legs still feel heavy as shit but he doesn’t like the concern burning holes in the plaster of his wrappings. Can’t help but think Nines deserves nothing more then to be smiling and happy all the time. 

And Nines does. 

He’s slow and hesitant to crawl up on the bed, rushed by Gavin’s own impatience, and once he’s settled his human’s coddled up on his side. The detective can’t help to nuzzle close to his neck, breath fanning across the synthetic skin there. He fumbles again with his own hand- drawing it up and somehow managing to get their fingers to lock together. Probably Nines’ doing, if he’s honest. 

Gavin’s comfortable, warm, and cared for. Mind-numbingly numb because of the pulsing painkillers, Nines leans his head against the wall and also into Gavin below. They stay like that, quiet and content. 

But he feels the need to say something, feels it as strongly as he felt his lungs expand with blood before arriving to the hospital. But this experience is his first one- no one but Tina making snide remarks mixed with some sincerity just for spice. He fired back hotly each time, careful and sometimes genuine himself. 

The need to say anything- _something_ \- amid the silence is great. “Did you get hurt?” 

So fucking lame, Gavin. He scolds himself, looking at the face of the android he’s hopelessly smitten with. 

The android only looks forward, the yellow glow barely shining with the angle Gavin has to see it, and speaks. “No. I merely had to reboot.”

The voice is too soft sounding, too monotone and programed; it wasn’t his Nines. Gavin’s heart squeezed painfully- ironic, considering- at the sound. He remembers hating the sorrowful look, remembers the hurt etched across such a beautifully perfect face. He’s sick with the loathing of it all. 

“ ’s why Connor was screaming’ or some shit back there?” He’s worried, can’t make much sense of whatever that clusterfuck of memories was. His hands turn the larger one over, running and soothing over the white that now shined clearly. 

“He tried to re-start my systems,” Nines paused. Something he wasn’t telling afterwards. Gavin didn’t press, remained silent and allowed his partner to process whatever words or scenario in his head. 

Dropped a kiss to the knuckles of the now glowing joints, holding it against the clear patch of his chest. He knew Nines felt better in contact with him, as clearly as possible, and hoped. 

“I thought you weren’t going to make it. I thought- I-I-“ Nines can’t swallow but a broken, shaky exhale leaves him then. The hand holding Gavin’s now trembles and quakes. “-I denied any possibly boot ups. I did not want to enter a field of consciousness without you in it.”

Fuck the collapsed lung or chest wall or whatever the flying fuck it was. Now that took the air right out of him. Made his heart shred in unforgiving slices when broad shoulders shook and Nines came to cower more into his form. Retreating to seek comfort but afraid to cause harm. 

“Nines,” He can all but coo. Softly, voice wavering and unsteady as much as his partner is looking. 

“I love you, Gavin. I was so scared I’d never be able to kiss you, analyze you, scan your vitals.” He turns to Gavin then. Tears swimming inside perfect eyes. Gavin, despite the oxygen readily available to him, can’t breath. “I want to bicker with you, calm you from your tempers, witness your deduction skills, tend to your cats, and remain at your side for as long as you’ll have me.”

There’s another tense silence, he doesn’t know how to respond. So Nines continues. 

“You’re beautiful and frustrating and interestingly fascinating. There’s no one out there to withstand the feats you have or to capture me so accordingly- my systems stutter within your allowance- I simply cannot fathom it sometimes.”

Gavin doesn’t know what Nines is saying, but knows too well what the message is all the same. The emotion shown so vividly for once that he feels choked for different reasons, trying to push his body flush against the android’s. 

“You make days worthwhile, the subject to my objectives, and yet…the thought of-of this repeating. In a more unfortunate way has- has me…” Gavin presses kisses to the stiff, clenching jaw. Trying his best. He pulls barely away when the RK looks back at him. 

His LED is a steady stream of red; face so distressed and broken and hurt that Gavin thinks more painkillers would be absolutely genius. He can’t fucking stand the look. 

“I do not wish to loose you, Gavin, ever.” It’s spoken in silence, even if it’s low and laced with such a damn burden. He wishes he could carry it, do something beside sit there dumbfounded. 

“I’m not gonna leave you.” It’s simple, shitty he knows, but Nines seems to be soothed by it. Knowing that raw feelings made his voice whispery isn’t to be mistaken for the injuries. 

Gavin splays his hand against Nines’ cheek, grins in the way he leans his entire head into it, and shifts closer. Slouching to be at eye level with the human, looking at him in worship. He lets it slip- this time. Normally he’d curse and swear but holds back. Because his chest is filled with the warmth lulling him. 

Then he’s leaning as close as he draws, revels when Nines doesn’t pull away, and feels the lips he’s been eyeing meet his own. His are chapped, probably feel as shitty as he did- but Nines sighs wistfully all the same. Making him feel special, like he’s tough shit when he knows he’s nothing but. 

The kiss is sweet, bordering on heating as Nines braves to tilt Gavin’s head with a loving hand. Nibbles on the human’s lower lip tenderly, mindful of the chaffed skin- slides his tongue in with a small bout of hesitance. The android treads lightly as he plunges into the familiar heat of Gavin, groans in the way Gavin knows he’s confronted with mind-blowing data or whatever. Androids were fuckin’ weird and he knows he won’t ever fully understand, yet he tries. 

Gavin’s breathless, when Nines threatens to pull away he balls his fists in that stupid white uniform and pulls him against his lips again. Responds with his own needy tongue surging against that analytical one. Moans quietly, it swallowed by rushed kisses and brushes of tongue, registering the feeling of another being tangled with his own. Just for the extra moment, then he relents.

“That was reckless.” Nines says cooly, he doesn’t seem to regret it in the slightest. Maybe he’s interested with the way Gavin literally has trouble breathing. 

“But worth it.” He half huffs and drops his head back onto the chest he remembered passing out on. The blanket’s still warm, but Nines is always warmer. “Stay?"

“Of course.” _As if he’d ever leave,_ which makes Gavin smile. 

Tina could call him one of those cheesy, rom-com, sappy dumbasses but as long as it kept Nines happy he couldn’t care less really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was thinking about making a third chapter to this but it might not need it. 
> 
> It'd just be some sappy gay shit of Gavin post-hospital but eh, I'll let you make the call.


	3. You're what I wanna do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every title about this fic has been from edgy songs on my Spotify and I'm not sure if anyones realized it by now--
> 
> //hit

Gavin did not like to be carried. Or at least, that’s what he tried to portray to the people around him. But Nines knew better. He had a habit for knowing things about the detective that not many others were privy to. It made him feel special, in a way, undeniably close to the person he so very much adored. 

The hospital stay was only a three week visit; would’ve been less time if it hadn’t been for Gavin’s smoking habit and the fact that his body had handled trauma before. It was bearable, Gavin had claimed, because Nines was better looking then the ugly white walls and the snotty rich doctors. Nines had smiled then, so much so that he was surprised his range of expression had allowed it. 

The wound to the detective’s leg made him a candidate for crutches, but the bullet to the shoulder took the option away. The only thing available was a wheelchair, which the human sourly denied, and stubbornly insisted he was fine to walk. Nines allowed him to get away with it on the way out and into the car but brought it to an end as soon as they’d arrived at the apartment. 

His hands scooped up Gavin easily and he was mindful with where he set his hands and put the detective in a position that wouldn’t agitate his injuries. The man squawked his surprise, wiggled in protest, but fell victim to it all the same once Nines didn’t let up. Then he felt weight on his chest, a glance down and he was pleased to see a flustered pout overtaking Gavin’s features. 

“I can walk perfectly fine ya know,” Gavin piped up once Nines was at the door. He made sure his arm was securely hooked before he used his left hand to interface with the lock there.

“Of course you can.” The android hummed and didn’t miss the eye roll sent his way. He needed to get his human into bed, rest made for a speedy recovery- or whatever the term was that humanity liked to say.

______________________________________

Gavin was not one for romantic cliches, he wasn’t a sap, _he was not._ Or, he kept telling himself. It was hard to move around with his chest bound so tight and his skin so constricted. It was weird. 

He was used to stab wounds, plus it wasn’t like he hadn’t been shot before. Just never in the goddamn chest. He could nurse a stitch in the stomach no problem, tended to his patched leg and arm with practiced ease; but it was the nerve-wrenching pain that flared up inside his torso whenever he moved too quickly. 

Which was why Nines had drawn him a bath, insisting that Gavin get cleaned up. The detective didn’t really want to, if he were honest, because it only demanded more work from him. It was exhausting to move around on unsteady legs and a wrapped shoulder. 

It led to the android picking him up and stalking towards the bathroom while Gavin all but squawked out his protests. The carrying thing was new and Nines seemed fuckin’ metal about him not using his own two feet. Fuckin’ androids.

“You’re so fuckin’ weird!” He huffed, sitting on the edge of the tub and staring up at the too-tall-walking-definition-of-perfection. 

“Am I really?” Nines smirked; _fucking smirked._ And wasn’t ashamed at all to take Gavin’s shirt off in a flash. 

“Yes, You are.” He was not flustered. He was not fucking falling for this shit and blood was not rushing to his face as the RK went for his belt buckle. “I can do that myself!”

“I’m aware.” The little shit. 

No matter what he said or how much he squirmed, Nines helped him slip out of his jeans and boxers. It was embarrassing, the bandages he was sporting didn’t help him feel any less naked then he was. And if not to make matters worse, he had to watch his own damn boyfriend strip right in front of him. 

At least his clothes got folded, stacked in a neat pile beside the android’s own bundle. And then, Nines rushed him into the water, which was quite warm- perfect temperature. 

Of course, the detective was a bit cautious to let himself get really invested in the water. He didn’t want it to sting, and not because he was a bitch! He wasn’t, but the idea was less then appealing. 

Needless to say, his breath caught when he saw Nines sink in behind him. Felt the android’s stupidly hot chest press flush against his back, arms wrapping around him and leaning them both back. Fuck, okay, _maybe_ he was flushing just a bit. 

“Christ,” He cursed. As far any anyone else was concerned, he didn’t nuzzle closer. Because he was stone cold and an asshole, assholes don’t press closer to their ridiculously sweet boyfriend and earn tender kisses. Nope. 

He feels the android’s hands caress his hip, the other sliding up to his side and slowly undoing the pristine wrappings. They fall off easy and are guided to the trash before they could have a chance at getting wet. His wounds aren’t the prettiest thing to look at, really they would make any man loose his lunch, but Nines didn’t seem to mind in the least. 

If anything, Nines might’ve been worshipping them with how loving his touch was. The android was insanely cautious when he dragged his fingertips around the injured area of skin but pressed lightly, easing the tense muscles to come undone. The hand that had been tending to his thigh disappeared as soon as those peppering kisses turned lingering at the side of his neck. 

Gavin sighed, positively melting into the warm water and solid body against his own. The hand that had left him returned with a soft cloth, making simple passes to get him cleaned up- a particularly sinful bite under his jaw had him sucking in a breath for different reasons other then his busted lung. 

He was so glad to be out of the hospital. Thank fucking god. 

He'd thought that this would be entirely humiliating but it wasn’t. Gavin had been embarrassed in the beginning but wasn’t now. Nines’ hands were too good- _Nines_ was too good. Never failed to pull weaknesses out of Gavin or make him ever lose interest in those slender fingers. 

“You’re spoiling me,” Gavin tilted his head up to peer at those eyes. Beautiful baby blues shimmering bright with emotion; how anyone mistook Nines for cold was something only Gavin could guess at. He was anything but. 

“Perhaps.” He was grinning, the smug bastard, but cocked his head to lay a kiss at the corner of the human’s lips. 

“Now you’re just bein’ a fuckin’ tease.”

“Mm,” The android’s smile grew then and fuck if the sight didn’t do things to him. “I wouldn’t say that.”

______________________________________

Nines couldn’t deny that he might have had a problem with keeping his own hands to himself. It was the need to be close to his human, the need to verify that he was okay and his recovery was above optimal standards, that drove it. 

How scary it had looked whenever he walked in to that abandoned warehouse and found the detective cold and clammy. Now whenever Nines touched him, he was lively and warm, energetic and fine. 

Stubborn, but doing well. 

“I can dress myself, shithead!”

He could not. Nines knew this, suspected Gavin knew as well but was purposely making things harder. 

The android merely backed up, putting his hands up in surrender as he watched, for the third time as Gavin attempted to shimmy his way out of his clothes. 

He started with undoing the button on his jeans, pushing them down past his hips but stopping at the thigh. He tried to tug them down but grimaced and halted his hand- each swipe of denim made for an unpleasant pass on the healing wound. Nines was well aware of the detective’s discomfort. 

“Let me assist you.” He tried again, sitting on the side of the now fuming human. Gavin was cute when he was mad; red faced, huffing, torso inflated with ego and pride that wouldn’t go down. All snark and arrogance, a glint to his eyes that made him look fierce. 

“Fine! If it gets you off my fucking back then knock yourself out.” It was the frustrations talking, he knew. 

The detective was prepared to go through this entire recovery process alone, with the aid of his own good hand and nothing else. It made a pang run through Nines’ wires as he came to realize the boiling anger stemmed from a place of vulnerability. Gavin wasn’t used to being taken care of, that much was picked up early on in their partnership, but the depth discovered in intervals of intensity. Like now. 

“Thank you.” Nines flashed the human his smile, added as much gratitude that he truly felt into it. Gavin stared at his mouth for a minute before his gaze dropped onto the floor. The red hue didn’t go unnoticed. 

Nines was gentle as he guided the detective’s good arm through the sleeve, bunching up the side to rest upon his weary shoulders. His grip was light and feathery once it raised the shirt off of Gavin’s head and then simply pulled the rest of the way off his other arm. 

“You’re such a nannybot.” The detective said under his breath as Nines got to the hem of his jeans and pulled them all the way down. 

He liked how red the skin around his human’s neck and shoulders got, from the racing heart and swallow breaths, he couldn't help but to press a kiss to Gavin’s knee. Rub affectionately at the meat of his leg before turning to fetch clean clothes. The android figured a loose tank top would be a smart choice along with sweatpants. Comfortable attire for suitable resting periods. 

“And you’re such a child.” An eye roll was his reward, followed by another comment. 

“Says the one only officially like six months old!”

Nines bunched the tank up, slipped it over Gavin’s head and stared at his tussled hair fondly wanting nothing more then to rake his fingers through it. “Only a child would speak in such a way.”

“Only a pussy would give that answer.” Gavin gave a raised brow, sliding his arm through one end and allowing Nines to coax his other lax hand through the large open space. 

“Immature teenagers would use such vocabulary.” 

He eased the sweats up the detective’s legs, gentle as he went, and was proud that Gavin lifted his hips without being prompted and was met with no pain. He liked it that way and intended to keep it as such for a long time. 

“You’re an immature teenager.”

“Both of us are far from it in technical terms.” 

Gavin hunched closer, worried Nines kept his back straight, still in his crouch while dressing the detective. Their foreheads bumped, not unkindly in any means, and he saw the wide smile. Lips brushed the tip of his nose before rounding to his cheek and then diving down towards his lips. 

He shouldn’t allow this. But he was weak for the very human before him. 

So he nibbled and bit at the plump bottom lip, trailing his tongue along as it searched for a path inside the dirty mouthed detective. Gavin scooted closer, positioning his head to do just that and allow Nines passage. 

Nines shouldn't allow Gavin many things, but this one really shouldn’t hurt. 

______________________________________

_Shit._

Gavin was not short- be damned what the android said- and this shouldn’t be that fucking difficult. 

His cat food was on top of his fridge, he always put it there because the little shit heads had a bad habit of getting into it and eating it all. The jump from the counter top to it was too drastic for them to leap onto, and now it seemed like it was, too, for him. 

Usually all Gavin had to do was lean forwards, get just a bit onto his tiptoes and stretch himself- his hands would snag the bag and yank it down before tucking it right back up there after he gave everyone their share of food. Except now-

“Ack- _fuck!”_ He spit and grumbled, stilling in his motions. 

Every time he tried to shift up in a stretch, his chest and shoulder protested in the worst fucking way possible. It felt worse then clipping Cheetos claws and getting the brute end of an attack- or giving Annabella a bath. Searing pain shot up every nerve. 

Getting onto his tiptoes had his legs tensing, muscles stiff and it nearly made his knees buckle whenever the gunshot wound on his thigh ached long and hard against the movements. 

All in all, it fucking hurt. But his cats had to eat and Gavin was no bitch so he had to suck it up and act like a man. So he went to try again, and hopefully get it this time. 

Strong hands stilled his hips from brushing against the fridge door, one snaking around high on his waist to tug him into a sturdy frame. A solid chest fit perfectly against the slope of his back, “I wish you’d ask for my help.”

“Don’t need it.” Gavin grumbled lamely, watching as Nines didn’t even stretch to reach the bag of cat food and easily plucking it from its perch. Stupid fuckin android…

“I disagree.” Then he backed off and poured the food into each bowl, fetching fresh water for the cats before tucking himself right back against the detective to put the bag back. 

His hand dropped to the one hooked on his right hip, not pushing it away but keeping it there. “Whatever.”

It had to be illegal with how soft his obliviously dense android could be sometimes. It was a downright _crime_ that Nines tucked his head in the crook of Gavin’s neck and hummed endearment. It made his heart speed up, made him feel warm and tingly all over. 

He was a high school, love sick fucking teenager and he couldn’t even have a damn problem with it. 

______________________________________

The android set his icy gaze on the feline creating a mess throughout the kitchen. Chipper tried to nose his way into a bag of flour, and before that tip over the bottle of olive oil, and _before that_ he had been tripping to knock the frying pan to the floor. 

“No. None of that.” Nines swatted, picking the furry grey and white Maine coon up and dumping him on the couch right next to the others and his stupidly amused boyfriend. 

“Aw, Chip just wanted to have some fun with ya!” Gavin cooed, the cat deciding he loved the human more in the moment and gathered next to his side. He swore Chipper was sending him his own agitated glare at being interrupted. 

The detective was swamped with his pets, the kitten resting up on his collarbone right above his heart while Annabella was nestled in his lap as he stretched himself out to watch some police show called Brooklyn Nine-Nine. He noted long ago the show was the quickest way to make Gavin laugh or smile. 

“He can have more fun with you right here.” 

Nines reclaimed his place in the kitchen. Sir Marbles, the oldest and by far the easiest, mewed from his own spot in front of the oven. Soaking up the heat, as a human would put it. He blinked blearily up at the approaching android, licked his paw before swiping it over an ear and yawning. 

Nines wouldn’t ever say it out loud, but he appreciated the domestication Sir Marbles had above the others. He was rather fond of the senior feline. Of course, he had to bend over to prove his affections, scratching right under it’s chin. 

He was pleased to hear the rumbling purr, but also earned a low whistle from behind him. Without pause, Nines turned his head to the side and found Gavin openly ogling his form. 

“Nice view from here.” 

“Are you objectifying me in front of the cats?”

“No! I’m appreciating, there’s a difference!” 

“Uh-huh.” He rolled his eyes before standing back up, a whine of disappointment declared from the living room. “Maybe after dinner is made I’ll give you something else to look at.”

Gavin’s interests peaked, a sly smile eating up his previously arrogant features. “Oh?”

“I am certain Doctor McKinley would love to get another visit from you. I believe the hospital got new frames around their photos.”

“Oh.” The human groaned and hid behind the couch cushion. “You’re a sack of shit.”

“I’m making you dinner.”

“Touché."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it can't get much gayer then this I don't think!!
> 
> Writing more of my android! Gavin story and hopefully can update that sometime Tuesday or smth
> 
> Also working on a pining Nines fic; I'm in reed900 hell and I'm loving it haha pray 4 me
> 
> Come yell at me on Tumblr @TheShipDen

**Author's Note:**

> don't worry I'm not killing Gavin lmao, but enough people wanted a serious one based off the shitpost I made earlier, so of course, I obliged. I bet you regret asking for it tho haha
> 
> Thinking' about posting the second chapter next Thursday- if it's not finished by then, then probably on the next next Tuesday or Wednesday??
> 
> Not entirely certain of its gonna be 2 or 3 chapters so stay tuned ig


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